Foreseen
by P.L. Wynter
Summary: In 1967, tragedy struck Point Pleasant, West Virginia. They were given their warnings. No one listened. Now, the warnings are back. Rated M for language.
1. Chapter 1

Foreseen

Chapter One

Sam didn't like the holidays. He never really had. There were too many unhappy memories around that time of year, too many disappointments and tears to really enjoy the season. On the off chance that their Dad was actually home on Christmas, there were never any real presents, not the type of presents young kids should get. John had usually been too broke, too tired, or too drunk to get them anything normal. So instead, he'd given them pendants, charms, supplies of salt, and, when the boys were older, he upgraded to knives and daggers. It used to disappoint Sam. Every year, he'd get his hopes up that perhaps this would be the year they'd have a normal Christmas. Perhaps this would be the year when they could be human. But as he got older, he came to expect no Christmas miracles, ho holiday events. And pretty soon, the holidays were just forgotten altogether. When Dean said he didn't care about Christmas, Sam had pretended not to either. By the time Sam left for college, he'd given up on the holidays altogether.

But it had never really hurt like this. It couldn't have hurt. There were never any memories to miss when it came to Christmas. This year was a different story. College had changed him, in more ways that he cared to acknowledge. His friends had begun giving him presents. There were decorations around and holiday dinners, concerts, even parties. When he met Jess, she'd finally given him the Christmas he always wished he could have. A Christmas tree, presents, music, and love. Those were the things that were supposed to be related to the holiday. Not family fights, whiskey and ghost hunting. It had been a taste of normal and Sam had liked it.

And now he was back to this. Sitting on the bed of a motel room, wondering where his father was, or even if he cared. It would take some time to get used to it again. It hurt to think that he had to. It wasn't even the fact that he missed his friends or the holiday festivities, though those hurt in their own ways. It was the fact that his brother Dean had grown cold towards the holidays. He'd never really had a good one that he could remember, so in Dean's mind, he knew not to expect it and even tried to prevent it, knowing that it would be the same thing next year. It was self preservation and it hurt Sam to know his brother thought he had to do it. Dean had always taught himself not to get his hopes up. Sam blamed that on their father.

So Sam sat alone, six days away from Christmas, on some dirty motel bed thinking about Jess. She'd been on his mind a lot lately and he attributed it to the holidays, some of his fondest memories with her. Dean had gone out to collect their dinner and Sam hoped it was something other than cheeseburgers. But Dean would be gone for a bit and Sam didn't know what to do. There was nothing worth watching on television. The brothers didn't have any place to go or ghost to hunt. They'd been sacked up in the motel for nearly four days. Dean said it was because he was waiting for instructions from their father, but Sam guessed that Dean was just getting tired, in more ways than one. Sam couldn't blame him. Though they had done their fair share of saving people in the past few months, the brothers were reluctant to acknowledge that their father hadn't been at any of the coordinates he'd sent them to.

Bored and not wanting to think about his Dad, Sam pulled the laptop out of his bag. He waited for it to turn on and then opened a few files, leaning back against the headboard and trying to get comfortable. The first picture came up and Sam couldn't help but smile. Jess's face was smiling brightly back at him. She had a Santa cap on and it looked strangely beautiful on her. Sam had made her wear it, though she had felt stupid at first, but eventually she had started modeling it off and Sam couldn't help but snap a picture of her.

The next picture was of Sam and Jess together. He had been carrying her piggyback through the snow. She looked beautiful in the snow. Her pink hat and matching mittens had been collecting the flakes for a while and it gave her an almost luminescent shade. They'd been fooling around with friends outside, having a snowball fight. The next picture was of them again, with a few other friends in the picture. Sam was getting caught in the face with a snowball which Jess had thrown.

Sam let out a sad chuckle as he remembered how happy they had been that day. God, he missed her. He looked through more of the pictures, trying to think just about the happy memories and not the horrible nightmare that seemed to overtake him whenever he thought about her. It was hard to do, but he relaxed himself into a mellow mood and looked through the rest of the pictures.

He was almost done when the door to the motel room opened. Sam clicked off his computer and closed it on his lap as Dean stomped the snow off his shoes and let out a disgusted shiver. "It's colder than a grandma's tit out there," he said and Sam couldn't hide his amusement. Though the comment was crude, it was undeniably Dean. Just the fact that his brother was there began to lift Sam's melancholy mood.

"You have such a way with words," Sam commented, placing the computer next to him on the bed before getting to his feet.

Dean grinned and put the carry out boxes he had in his hands down on the table. "And I didn't even go to college," he quipped, opening one of the boxes and handing it to Sam, who took it readily, his stomach growling slightly. Sam was surprised to find that his brother had actually brought home something other than burgers.

"Hot wings?" Sam asked, raising his eyebrow.

Dean nodded and Sam watched as he pulled his own meal out. Surprise, surprise it was a cheeseburger. Dean took a big bite and held it up to Sam in a mock toast. "Yeah," he said with a full mouth. "Half off burgers when you get wings. Couldn't pass up a deal like that."

"I bet you couldn't," Sam said before sitting back down.

Dean looked at him, chewing his food. "You all right?" he asked suddenly.

Sam looked up, wondering how the heck his brother always seemed to know when something was bothering him. He nodded at him and said, "Yeah. Just tired." Dean seemed to accept the answer and went on eating his burger.

After a few more bites, Dean seemed to notice the computer. "Planning our next road trip?" he asked.

Sam looked over at the computer and struggled for an answer. "Um…no. I was just getting bored and decided to surf around for a little bit." Sam knew it was a lame excuse and could tell Dean thought it was a lame excuse. His brother was eyeing him suspiciously, chewing slowly. Sam begged Dean not to pry. He wasn't ashamed to have been looking at pictures of Jess, he just didn't want his brother to think there was something to worry about, because there wasn't.

"Uh huh," Dean said, obviously not believing it. But to Sam's relief, he didn't press it further. Instead, he put down his burger and pushed it away, patting his stomach. "Well, I guess it was time we got going anyway."

Sam perked up at that. "Did you get new coordinates?"

Wiping his mouth clean of any remains, Dean rose and gave his head a small shake. Sam tried to not let the disappointment show in his body, but he could tell Dean had picked up on it anyway. "No," he said honestly and began taking off his coat. "But I'm sure we'll find something along the way." He threw his coat onto the chair. "Gonna grab a shower then we should hit the road."

Sam was a little taken aback by the abruptness of it all. He set down his dinner and leaned forward. "Dean, we don't have to go," he said. Dean eyed him, taking off his shoes and he did so. "I mean, if you wanted to stay here for a couple more days. You know, take it easy during Christmas?"

"Thought you wanted to find Dad," Dean said, not looking up from his shoes.

"I do," Sam's voice was curt, getting defensive. "It's just…we've been going nonstop for a while and, well, you look pretty tired."

Dean snorted at that. "I look fine," he said, bobbing his head to accentuate the statement. "You, on the other hand, could do for a little makeover yourself. Change up the wardrobe, try out some pastels, I think it would look good on your delicate form."

"Shut up," Sam spat, though he was glad to see Dean joking. "I'm sorry I never got into the whole leather fetish."

"Good thing," Dean said, rising from his seat, taking one more bite of his cheeseburger and heading to the bathroom. "Pack on a few pounds and then we'll talk. For now, try accessorizing."

Sam let out an exasperated laugh, smiling as he said, "All right, Martha Stewart."

"And for God sake's man!" Dean yelled before closing the door. "Get a hair cut!"

Shaking his head, Sam chuckled and leaned back on the bed, picking his food up again and starting to pick at it. He wasn't really hungry anymore. His humor faded a bit as he thought about getting back on the road. It meant getting back to looking for Dad. They didn't even know where they were going. What were they suppose to do? Drive around until their Dad sent them more coordinates to more places he'd never been? Sam wasn't even sure it was Dad sending the coordinates. He could be dead for all they knew. They could be following a ghost, literally. Though Sam didn't think that was the case.

Hearing the shower start to run, Sam sighed. His brother was getting anxious and it was starting to show. Sam could see it in the way Dean kept the cell phone close at all times, every once in a while glancing at it to see if he'd somehow missed a call or a message. He could see it when Dean read through the papers or watched the news, almost as if he expected to be given a sign as to where they were supposed to go next. But most of all, Sam could see it at nighttime, when he watched his brother toss and turn, trying to find a comfortable position but never able. It used to be a rare occurrence when Sam got more sleep than Dean, but lately it had been happening more and more. Sam would pretend to be asleep, listening to Dean sigh and turn, sigh and turn, for hours at a time before finally giving up and going into the bathroom or out to his car or, more frequently, he'd sit up and read through Dad's journal, over and over. Dean must have known most of that stuff by heart now, but he was always looking for something. Something that he'd missed. Sam didn't know how to tell him, or even how to approach him about it, but he was certain that there was nothing in that journal that could help them find John Winchester. Sam thought that his brother just needed to be reminded their father ever existed.

The worse part was, Sam didn't know how to make it better. He couldn't rightly go out and find their Dad. And he knew making Dean give up and try his luck at a normal life was out of the question. But that left Sam with nothing. Nothing but to stay with his brother, make sure he didn't run himself down. Though, it seemed like an impossibly huge task considering Sam himself was frustrated beyond belief that they still hadn't found hide nor hair of their father.

The sound of Dean singing in the shower made Sam let out a content laugh. Only Dean would sing a Poison song in the shower. Sam flipped on the television. Though it was nice to know his brother was in such a good mood where he could sing and not care who heard him, Dean's singing voice was not something Sam wanted to listen to readily. He flipped through the channels, knowing there must be _something_ on that he could tolerate watching. At last, he came upon "It's a Wonderful Life." It was one of the few Christmas movies he could actually enjoy.

About ten minutes later, the shower stopped and Sam knew that they would be on their way as soon as Dean was done grooming himself. Turning off the television, Sam started cleaning up and collecting their things. After a few minutes passed, Sam was growing restless and knocked on the bathroom door. "How long you gonna be?" he asked.

The shout was muffled through the door. "This is an art."

Sam frowned. "What is?"

"Looking this good," came the solid reply and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Well hurry up, pretty boy," Sam snickered at the scoff he heard from his brother. "I'm packing the car."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean answered.

Sam packed the car quickly, not wanting to be out in the cold more than he had to. Dean had been right with his earlier metaphor, it was damn freezing out. The ground was slippery and snow had started to fall again. Sam knew they would have to be stopping soon to get some heavier clothing. As nice as the Impala's heater was, it didn't help when they actually had to get out of the car. He wondered distractedly if they made leather winter coats. Dean would probably refuse anything else.

As Sam walked back into the motel room, rubbing his hands together, he heard the cell phone ring. Dean yelled his name from the bathroom and Sam rolled his eyes. "I got it," he called to his brother. He picked up the phone and looked at the number of the caller. It was unknown. _Could be Dad,_ Sam thought to himself, but tried not to expect too much.

Flipping the phone open he put it to his ear and said, "Hello?" There was a pause on the other end. Sam could her some background noise, though he wasn't quite sure what it was. It sounded almost like static, but it was deeper and slower. "Hello?" he said again, ready to hang up.

But a voice came through then and Sam froze, recognizing it immediately. "Hello, Sam," it said. Sam felt the blood drain from his face and he had to sit down in a rush. It couldn't be. He didn't have time to answer as the voice went on. "I love you, Sam." There was another pause and Sam was trying to spit out an answer, something, anything. But his throat was stuck. The voice went on, whispering, making Sam strain to hear, not stopping between sentences. "Manheim needs his bone. Save my baby. Is that a bad man? Do you see the birds? Sammy, I'm sorry."

When the voice paused again, Sam finally was able to get something out. "I don't understand."

There wasn't an answer for a moment and Sam thought he'd lost the person on the other line. His heart was beating hard in his chest and he felt like he was either going to cry or panic his throat was so tight with emotion. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. There was no fucking way.

Sam was about to call out their name when the voice said one more thing.

"He will see."

Abruptly, the dial tone sounded and Sam sucked in a breath. But he didn't have time to react as suddenly he heard Dean's terrified voice from the bathroom yell, "Holy Fuck!" There was a crash and an odd thump and Sam was on his feet. He was still reeling over the phone call, but he very rarely heard Dean sound so terrified.

"Dean?" he yelled, running to the bathroom. He tried to open it, but the door was locked. The phone call was forgotten for a moment and Sam pounded on the door. "Dean?" he didn't even need to ask if his brother was all right. Sam just knew that something was wrong. Sam felt fear well up inside him. What was going on? "Dean!" he yelled, pounding again on the door, growing desperate.

The door suddenly unlocked and Sam was quick to open it. He stopped short when he saw Dean, sitting on the counter, a towel wrapped around his waist, wide eyed and breathing hard. He'd knocked the toiletries onto the floor and a glass cup had fallen into the sink and broken. Sam eyed his brother up and down, he didn't look hurt, at all, just scared and angry.

"Dean?" Sam asked, opening the door a little wider, looking at the bathroom. He didn't see anything. "What happened?"

"Holy shit, Sam," Dean said, putting a hand to his chest. Sam frowned and waited. Something had spooked his brother, and that wasn't very easy to do. "It was right behind me," Dean said, distracted.

"What was?" Sam asked, trying to get Dean to look at him.

"I've no idea," Dean said, shaking his head and looking at his brother. "I saw it in the mirror. Turned and it was gone." Dean took a deep breath, putting a hand to his head, brows furrowing in confusion and irritation. "Jesus," he whispered. "I know I saw it." Sam suddenly straightened, his mind going to the phone call. The very last thing said. Were they talking about Dean?

"Dean," Sam demanded, coming closer and standing in front of his brother. "What did you see?" he asked it sternly and Dean looked up at him, confusion clearly written on his face.

"I don't fucking know," Dean spat. As soon as the words came out of his mouth, a trickle of blood dripped out of his nose. Sam froze. It had confirmed his fear.

"Dean…" Sam started to reach up but stopped when Dean raised his own hand and touched his nose, drawing his hand back and staring at the blood. He looked over at Sam. They shared a look that said something wasn't right. Sam stared at his brother, unsure what to do. Dean was studying Sam, his eyes looking for any irregularities. Sam was nervous.

Dean put the back of his hand to his nose as it continued to bleed. He grinned suddenly. Sam couldn't find anything funny about the situation. "Don't worry Sammy," he said. "I won't go all psycho shit on you." Despite the situation, Sam had to smile. It was awfully similar to the asylum. But something was different about this one. Sam could feel it. It was odd, yet it screamed out for Sam to pay attention to it.

"Sammy?" Dean asked and Sam looked up, realizing he'd been staring. Dean looked worried and Sam gave him a reassuring smile before his face fell.

"I think we're being haunted," Sam said abruptly.

Dean shot him a 'no-shit' look and said, "Thank you college boy, that was really helpful." The sarcasm wasn't lost on Sam and he frowned.

"Dean," Sam said, taking in a breath, knowing that Dean wasn't going to like this one. "I got a phone call."

Trying to wipe the blood away from his nose and accidentally smearing it across his cheek, Dean gave him a sharp look. "What?" he asked. "From who?"

Sam shook his head, almost afraid to tell his brother. So much for not making Dean worry.

"Jess."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Are you sure it was Jess?" Dean still held a bloody hand towel to his nose. He hadn't taken the news any better than Sam had expected him to. Dean had been quiet for a while, trying to come up with an answer but not able to. Sam had let his brother get dressed and had pulled out the laptop, sitting down at the table and trying to look up Dean's imaginary demon, though he didn't have much to go on. Now, Dean was standing behind him, looking over his shoulder at the pictures that were coming up. None of them seemed to be what Dean had seen. They'd looked through their Dad's journal, but hadn't found anything like it in there either.

"Yes," Sam replied dryly, not wanting to go into detail. He continued to scroll through the pictures of demons, feeling himself growing frustrated. He wasn't sure if he was frustrated because they weren't finding Dean's demon, or because Dean wouldn't drop the fact that Sam thought his dead girlfriend had called, warning him it was going to happen.

Dean sniffed, taking the towel away from his nose. He was happy to see that it had finally stopped bleeding. He threw the towel away and looked half heartedly at the pictures Sam as scrolling through. "What if it was just someone who sounded like Jess?' Dean chanced it.

"I know her voice, Dean," Sam snapped angrily. He took a breath to calm himself. He felt the pain of loss start to creep back into his system and he knew it was time to change the subject. "So all you can tell me about what you saw is that it was a gray demon?" Sam asked, turning to look at his brother. Dean shrugged, tilting his head to the side and sat down on the bed. "That doesn't help much."

"Well that's what I saw," Dean said, laying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling. Sam watched him for a moment. He knew his brother didn't like this any more than he did. Dean didn't like being kept out of the loop, and with a mysterious gray demon and a phone call from Jess, Sam knew that his brother had never felt so far out of the loop before. It was a bit unnerving.

"You didn't see anything else?" Sam asked and the only response he got was Dean covering his face with his hands, showing his obvious frustration. "No other characteristics? Like horns? Eyes? Wings?"

"No!" Dean yelled. "For fuck sake."

"Well," Sam immediately got defensive, knowing his brother was starting to get angry. "All I'm saying is, how do we even know it's a demon? It could have been a phantom bear or something."

Dean sat up, giving Sam an incredulous look. "Phantom bear?" he asked, making the notion sound ridiculous. "Thanks Sam. That's really gonna help me sleep at night."

"I can't believe you're still afraid of bears," Sam grinned. "You fight demons for a living and you're scared of bears."

"Hell yeah," Dean bobbed his head. He looked at Sam like he was crazy. "I don't think being chewed on by Yogi would make for a pleasant evening."

"So you'd prefer a demon?" Sam asked. It was unbelievable that Dean could have such irrational fears considering what he did for a living.

"I know how to ward of a demon," Dean said defensively. "How are you supposed to ward off a bear? Fetal position? Yeah right."

"You could try shooting it," Sam said, looking back at the computer and scrolling through a few more pictures.

Dean rose from the bed and came over. He stood behind Sam and the brothers were quiet for a moment, looking at what images were coming up on screen. They weren't really anything special. Some drawings done by kindergartners, a few expertly drawn artist sketches of demons and the devil and even one of Bigfoot, though it wasn't really a demon. Dean let out a sigh and Sam knew what was coming next. His brother didn't know when to let something go. "What did she say?" he asked softly.

Sam was quiet for a moment, trying in another search. He answered absently, hoping Dean would get the hint. "She told me she loved me. Then she started babbling, apologized, and said _He will see._" Sam took a breath as his voice broke at the end. He leaned forward and eyed a picture on the screen. It was someone's rendition of a flying squirrel demon. Sam let out a snort.

"What do you mean, started babbling?" Dean asked.

Sam chewed the side of his lip, really not wanting to talk about it anymore but knowing that his brother wouldn't let it go. "She said things that didn't make any sense." Sam shook his head. "It doesn't really matter, Dean. We're looking for your demon. Are you sure you didn't see anything else?"

"I only saw it for like two seconds," Dean defended before adding, "And it does matter because getting a call from your dead girlfriend isn't something you just brush off." Sam tensed at the word dead, but just grit his teeth together. He really wanted Dean to back down for a while, just until he could think about it and rationalize why it happened. Dean pulled out a chair and sat down, letting out another sigh. "Sammy, if it really was Jess and her spirit's back, we're going to have to deal with it whether you want to or not."

"I know!" Sam spat, a little harsher than he meant to. But Dean didn't look too upset, he was just looking at his brother with an understanding gaze. Sam swallowed the lump in his throat and licked his lips. He didn't look at Dean when he said, "Let's just deal with one thing at a time, okay? Figure out what you saw and we'll go from there." Dean hesitated for a bit before nodding, to which Sam was eternally grateful. He didn't want to believe that Jess's spirit was back. He didn't know if he could handle it. He'd just gotten back on his feet and had learned to accept her death, but if she was back, it would knock him down harder than it had before. And he didn't know if he'd be able to get back up after that.

"Wait, wait!" Dean said, leaning forward and stopping Sam's hand from scrolling any further. Sam looked at the picture that had caught Dean's attention. "That's it," Dean said confidently.

The picture was hideous. No wonder Dean had had such a scare. It was a drawing, done by a sketch artist, of a man who was laying on the ground with his arm held above him protectively. The creature stood over him, at least seven feet tall. Wings spread out at least seven feet wide. It was a dark rendition, but the artist had done a good job making it look terrifying. It had a face, but the face was so distorted and hideous it was hard to tell what was what. The only thing Sam could see in the face were the eyes. Two blood red eyes in the middle of a fleshy red face. Teeth barred out at odd angles. "Are you sure?" Sam asked, glancing at his brother. Dean looked worried, a small trace of that lingering fear played across his eyes. But he took a breath and it was gone before he nodded.

Sam clicked on the picture and immediately an article came up. He read the title and leaned back in his chair, feeling like they'd gotten tricks instead of treasure. Sam heard Dean give a small whine next to him and knew his brother was thinking the same thing.

"We're not going to like this, are we?" Dean asked, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hands, staring at the screen as if it had just reached out and kicked him. Sam shook his head. No, if this was what Dean had seen, they were not going to like this. Not at all.

"Mothman," Sam muttered, disgusted. "Dean, it can't be. That was an isolated incident." Sam shook his head, looking over at his brother.

Dean shrugged and sat up. "They never caught it, Sammy. It disappeared right after the whole thing."

Sam rolled his neck, not liking where this was headed. If it really was _the_ Mothman, they were in way over their heads. "Yeah, disappeared for forty years. Dean…"

"Sam," Dean broke in. "That is what I saw," Dean said strongly, pointing at the monitor. "I know it. And…" Dean paused, breathing through his nose. Sam already knew what he was going to say. "It would explain the phone call." Sam knew the story of the Mothman. A lot of people did. It was famous. The Mothman had been a myth started in Point Pleasant, West Virginia in 1966. Eye witnesses had reported seeing the creature, along with strange lights, mysterious phone calls, loud noises, unexplained screaming, and blood written messages, regularly between November 1966 and December 1967. But through it all, the Mothman had never hurt anyone, which had kept the community from panicking. But it hadn't saved them. On December 15, not even a few days after the last sighting, a bridge that connected Point Pleasant to Ohio had collapsed unexpectedly during rush hour, killing 46 people. The Mothman sightings, and all the other unexplained events, had ended after the tragedy. It was one of the great unexplained phenomena in the world. Sam had seen the movie and he'd read the books.

But it didn't make sense. That had been nearly forty years ago. Forty years without a sighting. Every ounce of common sense and experience that Sam owned was screaming at him that this wasn't right, that it couldn't be. He didn't doubt that his brother had seen something, but he did doubt it was the Mothman. The Mothman was gone and had been for half a century.

"Maybe it was something that looked like this, Dean, but I'm having a hard time believing this is what you saw." Dean's eyes widened and he held a hand out in front of him.

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean spat. "I know what I saw."

"You said you only saw it for two seconds," Sam shot back. Dean's temper was rising, but Sam's was also and there was no way he was going to back down from this one. Dean had a tendency to get something in his head and never let it go. Sam wasn't going to let him do it with this. He was going to make Dean listen and they would figure this out rationally. "You just got done saying you didn't have a clue what you saw."

"Well now I do!" Dean yelled, standing up and staring down at his little brother. "What's your problem, Sam

"My problem," Sam growled, getting to his feet as well. "Is that you don't think about things like this. You jump to conclusions with out any sort of proof. You had, what, a two second flash of a face in the mirror? Dean, that could be anything!" He was shouting now.

Dean's face drew tight and he breathed out hard through his nostrils. Sam half expected his brother to take a swing at him, but he didn't. Instead, he said in a calm, yet stressed voice, "Just because you want Jessica to be alive doesn't mean that she is." It was worse than any fist or kick his brother could have thrown his way. Sam stood stunned for a moment, staring hard at Dean, trying to keep his temper in check. He couldn't believe Dean had struck so hard below the belt. It hurt to know his brother could get to him so effectively when he wanted to be hurtful.

Sam didn't expect it when Dean let his shoulders drop and sighed. He didn't expect the words that followed, either. "Sam, I know you miss her," he said softly. Sam wanted to scream at him that he didn't know anything. That he didn't know what it was like to love someone as much as he'd love Jess and to watch her die. But he didn't trust his voice at the moment and it took everything he had to keep the tears back. "But you can't let it cloud your judgment. There's things out there that will use it against you."

"Like you just did?" Sam spat, glaring Dean in the eye. He couldn't help but feel betrayed. And he hadn't ever felt betrayed by Dean. Not even when Dean hadn't stood up for him when their father had told him not to come home. This hurt worse. This hurt worse because Dean wasn't standing by silently, he was the one spitting the insults.

Sam didn't expect his brother to look so hurt by the muttered response. Dean's face softened and he took a deep breath, before giving a crooked, sad smile. "I'm going to Point Pleasant," Dean said calmly. "You can do what you want. I'll be leaving in five minutes." Dean pulled the keys out of his pocket and grabbed the only remaining bag in the room, making sure to remember the knife that was beneath his pillow. He stopped after he zipped it up, standing with his back facing Sam. Sam was watching him, wondering if his brother would really just leave it like this. They'd never had a fight so bad where Dean was willing to leave, willing to let him go. Dean's shoulders shuddered and he whispered, "I can't do this without you, Sam. I didn't mean to hurt you." He left, closing the door behind him.

It was suddenly too quiet in the small room. Sam sat staring at the door, wondering how this little spat had escalated so out of control. Of course he wouldn't let Dean leave by himself. They both knew that. They just needed time for things to cool off before they could figure out what to do. Sam, with every ounce of his being, wanted to believe that it was Jess who had called. But, even though he hated to admit it, Dean was right. The phone call could have easily been brought on by a spirit or a demon. Hell, maybe Dean was right about the whole Mothman theory, but Sam still needed more to believe that. Whatever was behind it, it had gotten the job done. It had caught their attention.

Sighing, Sam stood and grabbed his laptop before he headed out the door. The Impala was running and Dean sat in the front seat, hands gripping the steering wheel. Biting his lips, Sam walked around and climbed inside without a word. He got settled and the two sat in silence for a moment. Sam hoped Dean would just put it in drive and go. He didn't want to fight with his brother anymore. And he sure as hell didn't want to come out and apologize right now. Dean had been out of line, they both had been out of line. Sam wasn't ready to talk about it yet. They both knew that the wounds were still open. No need to rub salt in them.

"Are we good?" Dean asked, not looking over at him.

Sam sighed, rubbing his hands together. He turned and looked at Dean. His brother looked almost scared, as if he hadn't expected Sam to come out. Sam's earlier anger was forgotten. As much as they fought, Sam had hoped that Dean had gotten over his fear of being left alone. Sure they fought, and sure sometimes Sam wanted to strangle his brother for being so stubborn and thoughtless, but he would never leave him. Not again. Apparently, Dean still had some of that old fear left in him.

"I'm gonna need more proof to believe it's the Mothman," Sam said slowly. Dean nodded, accepting the answer for what it was: a silent apology. Sam gave a small smile and his voice sounded lighter when he said, "It's a little far fetched."

Dean looked over then and a small smile broke onto his lips as well. Sam felt himself relax. They were good again. That's all that mattered right now. Something strange was going on and they needed to work together on this. Both of them knew that.

"We need some serious couples counseling," Dean joked and a genuine smile broke out on Sam's face. Leave it to Dean.

"So, Point Pleasant?" Sam asked, reaching to the glove box and pulling out the map.

A few hours later, Sam found himself starting to drift off. He was slumped in his seat, head against the car door, trying to find a comfortable position. It had grown dark out and there weren't any other cars on the road in the wee hours of the night. The car ride had been pretty silent, except for a few quips from Dean, joking about the scenery or whatever random thing had happened to find its way into Dean's head. Dean had turned down the radio a little when Sam had first started to drift off. It was playing softly now. As soft as heavy metal could be played. Sam was almost afraid to go to sleep. He'd done a lot of thinking about Jess that day, and he was certain it would come back to haunt him in his dreams.

He shifted his position for the umpteenth time and he heard Dean groan. "Sammy, stop fidgeting and go to sleep."

Sam turned his head and glared at him. "Shut up," he snapped.

Dean grinned. "Feisty." Sam rolled his eyes and leaned closer into the door. He just couldn't get comfortable. He didn't know what it was. Too many things on his mind maybe. Maybe it was the seatbelt. But he didn't really feel like taking it off. Dean glanced over at him again. "I'm serious, Sam," he said. "Get some sleep. I may need you to drive later." That struck Sam as odd and it gave him a small spike of fear. He turned and looked at Dean, wondering if his brother was okay. But Dean just turned and grinned again. "Just in case I get another nose bleed."

Sam gave a disgusted scoff and turned back towards the door. "Idiot," he whispered.

But Dean wasn't paying attention anymore. The radio had started to go in and out with static. Dean reached and fiddled with the knob for a second. It did nothing and he smacked it. It came back for a little bit and Dean gloated in triumph. But not five seconds later it started again. "Fucker," Dean cussed and reached down to repeat the process, his eyes darting between the road and the radio.

After the third round of Dean cussing at the radio, Sam finally looked over and eyed it. "Maybe you should changed the station," he said, hopeful that he'd be able to get Dean to listen to some good music for a change.

"This is a tape," Dean said. Sam turned a bit more towards his brother.

"Think it's reading EMF?" he asked, suddenly not sleepy anymore.

Dean shook his head, looking away from the road to stare at it hard. "I don't know," he said honestly. He fidgeted with it again before looking back up at the road.

Sam only had half a second to register his brother's hissed curse as the car suddenly jerked violently to the side. Sam felt himself thrown against the door, his head smacking the padded interior with a crack. He heard the wheels grind on something, gravely maybe, and suddenly they were spinning.

It lasted for only a few seconds before the Impala came to a loud and powerful stop against a tree.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Sam groaned. He lay still for a moment, making sure the world had stopped spinning before he slowly started to pick himself up. His seat was reclined backwards and his back ached from the stress of trying to keep himself still. His chest hurt from where the seatbelt had held him in place, as well as his hip, as he had been turned towards the door. But he didn't think they were anything more than bruises. There was a sharp, throbbing pain above his right eye and he reached a hand up to feel it. The wound was wet and smarted when he touched it. The wetness was dripping down the side of his face and it felt sticky. He pulled his fingers away and saw blood, letting out a small groan. It wasn't a deep split, but there would be plenty of bruising and swelling on his eyebrow, he was sure.

The sound of the car's metal frame groaning and settling brought Sam back to the situation. He looked up and saw that the front windshield was an array of cracks and holes. Branches struck through the glass. There was no smoke, so Sam counted that as a good thing. It looked at though they had hit the tree on the left side. Sam let out another groan as he realized how upset Dean would be.

_Dean…_

Sam's mind was instantly cleared and he turned to look at his brother. He expected Dean to be cussing and swearing, pissed off and spewing forth a colorful assortment of crude remarks at the car. He expected Dean to turn to him and start fussing over the cut on his head. He expected Dean to take control of the situation and tell him what to do, because Sam was at a loss. What he did not expect was the sight that greeted him. Dean lay still, on hand hooked into the steering wheel, the other laying limply across his lap. He was leaning into the door. But what horrified Sam the most was the fact that the driver side window was cracked in a circular patter of streaks and webbing. Dean's head was the point of impact. Sam felt panic well up inside of him. Dean's eyes were closed.

Letting out a choked gasp, Sam sat up, ignoring the protests his battered body screamed at him. His hands fumbled with his seatbelt, shaking from adrenaline and fear. But finally, his seatbelt snapped open and Sam was crawling across the seats, putting a hand gently on his brother's arm. "Dean?" he asked, his voice shaky. There was no response and Sam propped himself on the dashboard, leaning over his brother. The interior of the car was cramped and hard to work with, Sam hit his head on the roof several times, but didn't care. When he spotted the blood, Sam didn't care about anything but his brother.

"Oh God," Sam breathed out, moving a hand to cup Dean's chin, afraid to move him but needing to feel his brother's pulse and breath. He nearly cried when he found both. Though Dean's pulse was a little thready, his breathing was fine. Dean's face was pale, his eyes closed. The left side of his head was red with blood. It had smeared onto the glass and ran down in dark rivulets on his cheek to his chin and dripped onto his coat. "Jesus," Sam whispered, looking back at Dean's face, holding his chin gently. He tapped his right cheek lightly, trying to wake him but not wanting to hurt him more if he had a concussion, or worse.

"Dean?" Sam called to his brother, noticing that his breath was catching in the air. The cold had started to seep into the car. Great. Sam tried to square himself with his brother again, patting him down, checking for any other injuries. A painful looking welt had started to form on his right wrist which had been caught in the steering wheel, but other than that, the head wound was the only other injury. Sam looked at his brother's face, hoping to see a sign of life. "Dean, come on, man," Sam said, lightly tapping him again. Still no response.

"Shit," Sam cursed and tilted his head around the chair to look out the back window. It looked like they'd fallen down an incline. He could see their tracks in the snow. "Shit," Sam said again, not knowing what to do. He felt for his cell phone and pulled it out. When there was no signal, he felt like screaming.

Taking several deep breaths to calm the panic that was beginning to overcome him, Sam leaned back against the dashboard, not taking his eyes off of Dean, and tried to think of what to do. He couldn't leave Dean alone in the car. But the crash had shattered the headlights and no one would see them down here. He didn't even know if anyone else would come along the road.

Sam suddenly thought of the first aide kit they kept under the back seat. He scrambled between the two front seats and pulled his long legs back, searching for the first aide kit. He found it quickly and pulled it out. Riffling through the contents, he found some gauze, bandages, medical tape, and string, but no needle. As he was searching again through the kit, a groan filtered back from the front seat. Sam reacted immediately. He shoved the medical supplies into the passenger seat and climbed back up front, leaning over his brother once more.

"Dean?" Sam encouraged and this time he was met with another groan and a pain filled frown. Dean's eyes were moving beneath the lids, but they had yet to open. "Dean, that's it," Sam coaxed, placing a hand on his brother's arm and holding his chin again, letting Dean know that he was there. "Dean, open your eyes." Sam decided to get stern. It seemed to have the desired effect as Dean's eyes started fluttering. Sam let out a happy tearful laugh and nodded. "That's it," he rubbed Dean's arm.

It took a moment, but finally Dean's eyes opened and stayed open. They were glossy and it seemed he was having trouble focusing. But Sam stayed in his line of sight, hoping beyond hope that his brother would see him and come alert. Sam finally got his wishes as Dean's eyes seemed to focus on him and his lips parted slightly but no words came out. "Dean, can you hear me?" Sam tried, wanting his brother to respond.

Dean's eyes closed halfway as the effort of talking seemed to be too much. "I'm not deaf." Sam laughed again, knowing the tears in his eyes were good tears this time.

"No," Sam agreed, watching as his brother's eyes wandered, taking in the surroundings. "Just a smart ass."

"You okay?" Dean asked, closing his eyes. "You're bleeding."

Sam wasn't surprised that would be the first thing an injured Dean would ask. He positioned himself a bit better in front of his brother and answered, "I'm fine." Sam started to gently turn Dean's head, wanting to get a better look at the wound. The more he could see, the more it worried him. He stopped when his brother groaned and winced. "Sorry," Sam whispered.

"How's the car?" Dean asked, opening his eyes again and immediately focusing on the branches that were sticking through the windshield.

Sam rubbed his brother's arm, noticing that the temperature was dropping steadily. They needed to get out of here and to some place warm. Blood loss and hypothermia were two things Sam didn't want to deal with. "I'm afraid she'll be out of commission for a while." Dean moaned but Sam knew it wasn't from the pain. "We'll get her fixed," Sam assured him. "But right now, let's get you fixed."

"Am I broken?" Dean asked, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips.

"Funny," Sam chided. He leaned a bit further to look at the wound. "Can you turn your head?" he asked, watching as Dean complied, a grimace on his face but staying strong. Sam smiled at him and put his hand on the back of Dean's head, looking at the wound more closely. It was a nasty one. A large gash ran from Dean's temple to his ear. It was starting to swell and Sam could see the beginnings of some killer bruises forming on Dean's cheek bone and even around his eye. "Are you dizzy?" Sam asked, touching the sides of the wound gently to assess the tenderness.

Dean winced and tried to move his head away, but Sam held him in place. "A little," Dean answered and Sam was struck by the fact that Dean didn't even try to claim he was fine. That was worrying in itself. Dean wasn't one who liked to show pain. In fact, most of the time he tried to hide his injuries.

"This is gonna need stitches," Sam said. He made eye contact with his brother, trying to judge his reaction. "And you might have a concussion." Sam paused, knowing Dean wouldn't like it. "I have to get you to the hospital."

Dean sighed. "Can't you just sew it up here?" he asked softly. Sam knew that his brother hated hospitals. Too many trips as a kid, Sam guessed. Too many trips to go see their father, or to go see each other, or even to go as a patient themselves. Sam couldn't blame his brother for not liking hospitals. Sam wasn't too keen on them either.

Shaking his head, Sam said, "No, I couldn't find any needles." He rubbed a hand over Dean's head and leaned in to look at the wound again. God it was nasty and it was making Sam anxious knowing it belonged to his brother. "You're due for a check up anyway," Sam tried to make light.

Dean was staring down at the medical supplies on the seat, but Sam guessed that his brother wasn't seeing them by the far away look in his eyes. Sam reached over and grabbed some of the gauze and a cotton bandage. He placed it on the wound and Dean flinched but didn't say anything. Sam held it there and tried to look at his brother's face, trying to gauge if he was going to stay awake.

"I saw it again," Dean whispered. Sam frowned. "It was in the road."

"Mothman?" Sam asked, now starting to put the pieces together. Dean was a good driver, and Sam didn't know hwy he'd suddenly swerved off of the road. Sam cursed himself. He should have made his brother let him drive. Dean was the one seeing the thing, it had been a stupid idea to let him drive in the first place.

Dean smiled and Sam frowned. "So you believe me?"

"No," Sam answered, feeling Dean start to shiver. It was time to get out of here. "I just don't know what else to call it." He moved so he was kneeling on the passenger seat. "Dean, can you hold this there?" he asked. Dean rose a slow, sluggish hand to the gauze and took over for Sam, holding it tightly over the wound.

"What are you going to do?" Dean asked, moving his head. It looked heavy and Sam could only imagine how it felt.

"Phones don't work," Sam said, holding up his phone with disgust. "So I'm gonna go up there," Sam pointed out the window to the top of the incline they had slid down. "And see if I can flag down a car." Sam was moving before Dean could answer. He got out of the car, the cold hitting him like bricks. He shivered involuntarily and trudged through the knee deep snow to get to the trunk. Opening it, he pulled out some blankets Dean kept back there. He walked back around and climbed into the car again, closing the door. "But first, I'm gonna make sure you're warm enough."

Sam wrapped the blanket around his brother, tucking it into him and making sure as much of Dean was covered as possible. It reminded Sam of all the times his brother had done that same for him when they were little. They'd usually made a game out of it, tussling until Sam got too tired and Dean tucked him in quietly. It gave Sam a somber feeling, almost wishing they were kids again. Dean was frowning, eyes closed, looking worried. Sam noticed his teeth had started chattering. He leaned forward and put a hand on the side of Dean's face. His skin was so cold. Dean opened his eyes and frowned when he saw Sam's face so close to his own. "Dean, you gotta stay awake for me," Sam said, looking his brother square in the eye. "I can't go get help if you're gonna fall asleep."

"I'm good, Sam," Dean muttered, smiling. "Just want to make the room stop spinning."

Sam nodded. "Okay, then I'll be back soon."

Dean reached out from underneath the blankets and grabbed Sam's jacket as he went to open the door. He stopped and looked back at his brother. "Sammy," Dean's eyes looked worried. "I don't think…what if it's still out there?" Sam knew what Dean was trying to say. He didn't want Sam to go alone. Sam patted Dean's hand and shoved it back beneath the blanket, tucking it in again.

"Don't worry," he said. "Mothman doesn't hurt people, remember?" Sam tried to joke but Dean didn't find it funny. He smiled and patted Dean's knee. "I'll be fine. Just stay awake for me."

Sam left the car before Dean could grab him again. He closed the door and took a deep breath, looking at the incline. This wasn't going to be easy. It was slippery and cold and snowy and Sam didn't like it. But, it had to be done. Sam just hoped that once he got to the top, he wouldn't have to wait long for a car to come. He didn't really want to stand out in the cold all night and he sure as hell didn't want to keep his brother from being checked out by a doctor. Dean was awake and alert, for the most part, which was comforting to Sam. But that wouldn't last long if his brother started freezing to death.

Sam opened the trunk again and shuffled through the things before he found what he wanted: gloves and a flashlight. He slipped them on and looked at the hill again. Time to get going. Using his hands and practically crawling up the steep slope, Sam soon found that the gloves worked only for a limited time. Soon, his hands were freezing and the cold had started to seep through his clothes and into his bones. His jeans were wet at the bottom and stuck to his skin, chilling him more than he appreciated.

After what seemed like an unfairly long climb, Sam made it to the top. He flashed his flashlight around, just checking to make sure whatever Dean swerved to miss wasn't still around. Then he turned and looked back down at the car. God, had the slid that far? It was a wonder they hadn't died. Sam pushed the thought away and turned back to the road. He didn't see a car coming either way and shoved his hands into his pockets, bouncing a little on his feet to keep himself warm. He didn't want to sit down, because if he sat still, the cold would get to him. On a chance, he pulled out his phone and looked at it. There was still no service. Sam cursed and decided that he would make Dean get them both satellite phones.

About ten minutes later, Sam heard the Impala's car door open. He turned and looked down at the black car. He took out his flashlight and shined it down. He could see Dean's legs hanging out of the car and he swore. Dean never was one for following orders, especially from his younger brother. Sam cupped a hand to his mouth and called to his brother, "Dean, stay there!" But Dean either didn't hear him or chose not to listen and Sam watched his brother stand himself up slowly, using the car door as support, more support than he should require. "Dean!" Sam yelled again, worried that his brother would slip and hurt himself further.

But before Sam could decide whether to go back down to Dean or stay up here in case a car came, the quiet night air was broken by a powerful and harsh high pitched scream. Sam froze, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He shone his flashlight around, but the scream seemed to come from all sides. Sam's heart stopped when he heard Dean yell, "Ah fuck, Sammy!"

Sam aimed the flashlight towards his brother and sucked in his breath as he saw what had made Dean yell out. He just caught a small glimpse of it with his flashlight, but it was enough for Sam to think that maybe Dean was right about the whole Mothman thing. It was a creature, or a demon, of some sort. Gliding around close to the ground. It was moving quickly, darting around the car. Sam was moving before he could think of something to do.

Running down the slope, he tried to follow the thing with his flashlight, but it was moving too quickly. Dean had slipped down the car and was now sitting in the snow, fumbling to find some sort of weapon to defend himself, but he was shaking rather violently. Sam reached the car and drew a gun out of the trunk. He went to stand in front of his brother. But the night was eerily quiet and Sam couldn't spot the creature again. They stayed that way for a full minute before Sam turned and kneeled down by Dean. Dean was shivering horribly and he had dropped the gauze. The head wound was still bleeding. 

"Now you believe?" Dean asked, teeth clattering together. Sam leaned in, choosing to ignore the question as he picked Dean up, not liking how cold his brother felt, or the amount of blood that was staining his jacket.

"Come on," Sam demanded when Dean didn't seem to want to move.

Dean's hand was still clutching the door. "Sam," Dean pleaded. "My car…"

Sam was too frazzled to find Dean's love of his car endearing. "We'll call a tow in the morning," he replied quickly. "Come on, we have to go." Sam started pulling his brother towards the hill, struggling to keep Dean and himself from tumbling back down. Dean's strength was quickly being sucked away and Sam didn't know how he was going to get him to the top.

Suddenly, Sam froze as a sound reached his ears. He looked at his brother, who was nodding at him to go. Sam patted him lightly before sitting him down in the snow, giving him a promise that he would be right back. Sam wasn't used to taking care of Dean like this. Frankly, he didn't want to get used to it. It scared him, really, truly scared him. Dean joked and laughed and killed baddies. He didn't bleed and shiver and need to be kept awake. Sam was still in a bit of a shock over the whole situation. This wasn't like them, and it creeped him out. Sam ran the rest of the way up, hoping he'd get there in time.

The brightness of headlights was getting closer and as Sam broke to the top of the hill, he darted into the road, desperate to stop the car, which had to slam on its breaks. Sam had to hold out his hands, taking a few steps back to keep from getting his knees clipped by the bumper. As soon as the car was stopped, the driver's door opened and a surprised, and a bit angry, looking man stepped out.

"What's your problem?" he demanded, not giving Sam time to talk. "I could have killed you."

"Please," Sam said, out of breath. "My brother and I slid off the road. He's hurt. Could you give us a ride to the hospital?"

The man looked surprised but stepped all the way out of his car, closing the door. "Where is he?" he asked.

Sam led him to Dean, who was struggling to stay awake when they got to him. Sam hefted one of Dean's arms up around his shoulders while the other man did the same. They lifted Dean up and the man took control of the situation, much to Sam's surprise. "Hey buddy," he said. "What's your name?"

Dean eyed him and leaned closer to Sam. "Whose this?" he tried to whisper but said it a bit louder than he meant to.

The man smiled. "My name's Scott Kingly. I'm a paramedic." Sam raised his eyebrows. What luck. Scott grinned. "Off duty, but maybe I can get some overtime for this." Sam smiled and they maneuvered Dean up the rest of the slope and into the car. Sam sat in the backseat with his brother, trying his hardest to keep him awake.

So much for a happy holiday.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Sam remembered the first time he'd ever seen his brother get hurt. It was the summer when he'd turned five. They had been goofing around in the front yard, playing some silly game that Dean had come up with. Sam couldn't remember the rules, though it probably wouldn't have mattered considering Dean had always liked to change the rules in the middle of whatever game they were playing. He'd been notorious for that up until John had caught him doing it and had sat him down and given him a lesson on fair play.

They'd been running around, Sam chasing Dean, playing the part of whatever monster Dean had deemed him to be that day. Sam could remember making howling noises, though they had sounded more like a puppy than any type of wolf. Dean, having just finished watching some ninja movie with their father, had lined himself up and attempted to jump over the wagon they'd pulled out of the garage.

Sam remembered seeing Dean leap, foot catching the side of the Radio Flyer, and falling forward onto the cement of their driveway. Sam had run up to him, still gleeful and jovial as ever. Dean was picking himself up and Sam had wrapped his arms around his brother's waist, signaling that he'd caught him and it was his turn to be the monster. But Dean hadn't made the dying noises he did when he was usually caught and young Sammy had let go of his brother, smile fading as he stepped in front of him to look at his face.

Dean's face was something Sam would never forget. His brother had been biting his lip, brows furrowed, and eyes sparkling with unshed tears. He was hugging one of his arms to his chest, nearly his entire forearm, from elbow to wrist, was littered with scrapes and peeling skin. Sam had had his fair share of skinned knees and knew how much they hurt. But Dean was usually the one who patched them up, so who was going to patch up Dean's owwie? Sam had touched his brother tentatively, Dean struggling with all his might not to cry. But it was okay, because Sam did for him.

Sam had wailed so loudly that, looking back on it, he thought for sure the neighbors had thought one of them was dying. He'd cried and wrapped his arms around Dean's neck again, wanting his brother to make the owwie go away. He didn't like it, not one bit. Dean always made owwies go away.

John Winchester had come bolting out of the door, looking around madly, his hand on the hilt of a knife he kept at his side, beneath his shirt. Not spotting any monsters creeping up on his sons, he'd come over to them, kneeling down next to them and pulling Sam gently away from his brother. John had taken Dean's arm in his hand and lifted it. Dean hadn't even made a sound. 

"I bet that hurts," John observed, watching as Dean nodded slowly. John had stood Dean up and walking him inside, Sam following lethargically behind. Sam had watched, as though he weren't even in the room, as John had sat Dean down, taking a washcloth and wiping the dirt and blood from Dean's arm. His brother remained silent and still, still not crying. He'd then gone for the first aid kit and had taken out the biggest band aid Sam had ever seen. He placed it over the scrape and examined his work. When he was sure it would stick for a while, he'd put a hand to the side of Dean's face, smiling proudly. "And you didn't even cry," John prided. "That's my boy, Dean."

Years later, Sam could still look back on the whole thing and find renewed dislike for the way their father raised them. Yeah, it was the man thing to do, not crying. But Dean had been nine. Nine years old with an arm that looked like someone had sanded the skin off. Any other kid would have been screaming like death had just gripped them by the shoulders and shook. But not Dean. No, his brother hardly ever cried. Sam had only seen him do it a few times throughout their lives. It had been Dean's first lesson in hiding his pain. One that Sam wished he'd never gotten.

Now, sitting in the waiting room of the ER with Dean's dried blood staining his shirt, Sam couldn't get that nine year old boy, biting his lip and holding back tears, out of his thoughts. Sam never liked seeing Dean hurt. It just didn't seem right. Dean was strong, always had been. And Sam had always counted on him to be. So, whenever his brother got hurt, Sam's safe illusion of his brother's invincibility was shattered. It left an empty hole inside of Sam, a hole which could only be patched when Dean was back on his feet, goofing around and telling Sam what to do.

The car ride to the hospital wouldn't be one of Sam's most fondest memories. Though Scott had been instructing Sam on how to take care of the head wound while he drove, Dean had started going downhill. His whole body had been shivering violently and hadn't stopped, not even when Sam handed him off to the doctors. Dean had stayed awake the whole time, but had stopped answering Sam's questions when he asked them. And Sam had never seen his brother look so pale.

Sam was broken from his reverie when Scott Kingly shoved a warm cup of coffee in front of his face. He looked up at the man and accepted it gratefully. "Looked like you could use some," Scott said, taking a seat next to him. Sam took comfort in the warmth radiating from the cup.

"Thank you," Sam said and took a sip. It was Hazelnut. Sam swooned, it was his favorite. He turned to look at Scott, who was leaning his head back against the wall, looking at the nurse's desk. "You know," Sam said, drawing the other man's attention. "You don't have to stick around. You've done enough for us tonight, I'm sure you want to get home, enjoy what's left of your day off."

Scott chuckled and waved a hand in front of his face. "I don't mind," he said, smiling. "Day's almost over anyway." Sam smiled back, unusually grateful that the man was sticking around. Sam hardly knew him, but for some reason, he trusted him. Scott Kingly had, after all, saved his brother. And beyond that, he just had a look about him that Sam found trustworthy. His hair was shaggy, like Sam's. Nearly the same color. He wore a jacket that had the medical insignia over the right breast, and wore jeans that were well worn, tattered and stained, obviously loved. Sam couldn't explain the unusual trust he felt towards the man.

"Well, thanks," Sam said again, looking back towards the doors where his brother had disappeared behind. It had been an hour. An hour since Dean's hand had slipped from his own and he'd watched him be carted off by a frenzy of doctors. It still seemed a bit surreal.

"So," Scott said, looking for a conversation starter. Sam didn't know if he was up for a conversation right now. But Scott went ahead anyway. "Where are you guys from?"

What a question. He didn't exactly know how to answer that. "All over," he said instead. "We moved around a lot. But I've been at Stanford the past four years."

"Stanford?" Scott looked amused. "That's an excellent school. What are you studying?"

"I was studying Pre-law."

Scott let out a whistle. "Was?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah." He sighed and tried not to let the sadness show on his face. "I'm taking a bit of a break."

"Well, that's allowed," Scott said, leaning forward and grinning. "I took a three year break between my sophomore and junior years. Backpacked through Europe, you know, the normal soul searching trip." Sam let out a half hearted chuckle. "But I bet you'll go back."

Sam didn't say anything. The thought of going back to Stanford had crossed his mind many times, but he hadn't actually planned anything out. Going back to Stanford meant finding their Dad and killed the monster that took their Mom and Jess. And that was seeming like a more impossible task every day. Besides, Stanford would remind him too much of what he had lost. The life he could have had. He didn't know if he wanted that.

"Your brother seems like a strong guy," Scott said, pulling Sam back from his thoughts. He looked over at him, wondering where that observation had come from. The whole ten minutes Scott had been with Dean, his brother had been incoherent and unresponsive. But Scott just smiled. "Either that or he's got a hard head." Sam snorted. "I've seen people put into comas with less of a head wound than what your brother had."

Sam nodded. "He's always been tough."

Scott leaned forward. His voice was quiet when he said, "I'm sure he'll be fine." Scott paused for a minute, chewing his lip. What he said next sent Sam's head spinning. "Mothman's careful with things like that." Sam's head snapped towards Scott, frowning, studying the other man. Sam's heart felt as though it had skipped a beat. Did he really just hear that right?

"What?" Sam asked.

"I said Marksman's careful like that," Scott frowned. "The doctor, whose treating your brother. I know him. One hell of a man."

Sam nodded, looking away and letting out a breath. He didn't know what to think. He was sure that he heard Scott say Mothman. Sam ran his hands through his hair. He wasn't liking this, not at all. He was pretty sure that Dean had been right, they were dealing with the Mothman. The pieces fit together too well for it to be anything else. But the thought of taking on the Mothman wasn't something Sam was looking forward to. It was different from what they normally dealt with. In the Point Pleasant incident, the Mothman had never hurt anyone until the bridge collapsed, which Sam wasn't so sure the Mothman was responsible for. The fact that the Mothman seemed to be going after Dean wasn't too reassuring either. They'd have to be extra careful on this one, especially since it hadn't started out that well.

"Mr. Winchester?" A voice called. Sam looked up to see the doctor was looking at him. He immediately sprang to his feet, rubbing his hands together, suddenly nervous. The doctor looked tired.

"Yes," Sam blurted, leaning a little to try and peek at the clipboard. But he couldn't read it. "How's my brother? Is he okay?"

The doctor smiled. "Your brother's going to be fine," he assured him. Sam felt the weight leave his shoulders and gave a long sigh of relief. Thank God, he thought. He ran a hand over his face, the tiredness suddenly settling into him. But he knew the doctor wasn't done talking and forced himself to listen to the rest, willing himself to remember that Dean was going to be fine. "Your brother has a slight concussion, which doesn't seem to be affecting him but I suspect that when he gets up and moves around, he'll start to feel it. We stitched up the gash. I was a little concerned about the bruising around the head wound, but after examining it closer, I didn't find any bleeding. Now, the reason your brother was in such bad shape when he came in is because he was pretty cold. Slight hypothermia, but it could have been a lot worse. We're pumping some warm fluids into his system. It should help. Now, I usually recommend head wound patients stay here for a few days, but your brother is…well, doing miraculous. And, if there's no further complications, he can go home tomorrow."

Sam nodded. "Good," he said.

The doctor smiled. "Well, it's good for both of us. I have a feeling if he stayed around any longer, he'd have half my nursing staff running around like giddy school girls." Sam grinned.

"So he's awake," Sam said, not even having to ask.

"Yes," the doctor agreed.

"Can I see him?"

"You most certainly can," the doctor paused for a minute. "If you want to stick around for a while, I can arrange to have a cot brought to the room."

"Thanks, but I don't think I'll need it," Sam said.

Sam turned to say goodbye to Scott, but the other man was already gone. He frowned, officially creeped out by the other man. But still, there was something about him that made Sam believe he wouldn't hurt them. Pushing those thoughts aside, he headed towards Dean's room. He wasn't really expecting what was behind the door. He didn't know what he expected, but it wasn't this. Dean was laying on the bed, his arms crossed on his stomach. His head was turned to the side, a large bandage taped there. But what got to Sam the most were the bruises that covered the left side of Dean's head. He had a black eye, and the bruising stretched and spanned out to his cheekbone and even trickled down onto his chin. It disappeared back underneath his hairline and Sam could only imagine how far it went. No wonder the doctors had been worried. It looked awful.

When Sam closed the door, Dean's eyes opened. Sam was surprised, thinking his brother had fallen asleep. But Dean looked at him and smiled. "Do I look good in green?" Dean asked, referring to the hospital gown he was wearing.

Sam smiled and walked over to the bed, pulling a chair in close. "Nah, it takes away from your eyes," Sam said. Dean scoffed and closed his eyes. Sam watched him for a second, reminding himself that Dean was doing _miraculous._ "How you feeling?" Sam asked, tempted to take Dean's hand, but holding himself back. Dean may be hurt, but he still didn't do the chick flick moments.

"Like I need to kill something," Dean said, grinning. Sam couldn't help but chuckle.

"Well, you might get your chance," Sam admitted slowly. Dean frowned at him, eyeing him to go on. "I believe you now."

"I knew you'd come around," Dean said, still smiling.

Sam sighed and leaned back in his chair. "But now we have bigger issues to deal with. The last time the Mothman was around, it was predicting a disaster. If it's back, that can only mean something similar to what happened in Point Pleasant is going to happen again."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, looking awake now. Sam could only feel relieved. His brother really did have a hard head. "So all we have to do is find out what it is and stop it from happening. So, get to work, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes. "It's not going to be that easy." Sam paused for a minute, suddenly thinking of something. "Dean, last time, it never hurt anyone. It just flew around and spooked them. It never ran anyone off the road." Sam continued, already knowing what Dean was going to say. "Forget the movie, that was creative license."

"Well I hope so," Dean said, eyeing Sam. "Otherwise I'd have a brain tumor and you'd be on your own."

Sam's face paled slightly and he stared hard at his brother, letting him know that he didn't appreciate the joke. Not at all. "That's not funny," he said to emphasize his feelings. Dean just shrugged and shifted his head a bit, closing his eyes as pain shot through his temple. Sam waited for it to pass. When Dean opened his eyes again, he looked suddenly thoughtful.

"People listen to pain," he said softly.

Sam frowned. "What?"

"People listen to pain," Dean said more soundly. "Sammy, think about it. You flash some lights and howl a little and people just think it's weird. You run someone off the road and people start paying attention."

It made sense. Actually, it made perfect sense. In Point Pleasant, it hadn't hurt anyone. It scared them, but hadn't actually hurt them. So people thought is was just some paranormal mystery, they didn't stop to listen to what the messages or strange phone calls had to say. Suddenly, Sam whirled and looked for a piece of paper. He saw a pad lying on the table across the room. Pulling a pen out of his pocket, he walked over to it and started scribbling. 

"Sammy?" Dean called.

Sam didn't answer at first, just continued writing. When he was done, he picked it up and turned back to Dean. "You're right," he said.

"Of course I'm right," Dean chided.

Sam ignored the comment and walked over to him. "The phone call, the one from Jess. It's like you said. This thing knew how to get to me. It knew I would listen to Jess, because I wanted it to be her so badly." Sam caught the softened look Dean gave him but he didn't say anything. "Dean, it's already given us clues to work with."

"Well come on, Fenton, start sleuthing," Dean lifted a hand and shoved Sam weakly.

Sam frowned and looked at him. "Fenton?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "Fenton Hardy." At Sam's blank look, Dean rolled his eyes gently so as not to hurt his head. "Come on, didn't you ever read Hardy Boys?"

"No," Sam shook his head and frowned further. "When did you ever read them? I don't remember you ever having one."

Dean grinned. "Algebra class." He chuckled at the memory. "Got caught. Still don't know how number 47 ends."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, well, I'm glad you made good use of your school time."

"I did," Dean pointed a finger at him. "I mastered the art of charming my way to a passing grade." Sam laughed again and Dean smiled. He took the paper from Sam's hand and held it in front of him. He frowned and moved it in and out. Sam watched him, wondering what he was doing. Finally, Dean sighed and held the paper out to Sam. "You read it."

Sam took the paper tentatively. "You having trouble focusing?" Sam asked, wondering if perhaps the doctors had been wrong. Perhaps his brother was still in danger.

"Just read the paper," Dean demanded, his voice annoyed. Sam watched him for a second more before looking down.

"When she called, she said this, and exactly this. _Hello, Sam. I love you Sam. Manheim needs his bone. Save my baby. Is that a bad man? Do you see the birds? Sammy, I'm sorry._ _He will see._" Sam put the paper down, not liking how his mood was starting to drop again. He could hear Jess's voice, distinct as ever, saying she loved him. Damn, this thing really knew how to make him listen. The thought made him flinch and look at Dean, who was processing the gibberish in his head, looking thoughtful. Mothman _really_ knew how to make him listen. He hadn't believed Dean until they'd gone off the road. Maybe that was supposed to get his attention. It worked. It worked like a charm.

"That's messed up," Dean said, bringing Sam back to the present. He nodded in agreement. "What do you think it means?"

"Well," Sam said. "The he will see part I think was referring to you in the bathroom. I think all the parts where she says my name was just making sure it had my attention. But the others, I have no clue."

"Damn," Dean cussed and put a hand to his face. "Manheim sounds like a name," Dean said. Sam looked down at it written on the paper and nodded in agreement. "Start there."

"Dean," Sam said, folding the paper and putting it into his pocket. "We don't even know where it wants us to go. Besides, I hate to break it to you, but it's gonna be a while before we'll be able to drive anywhere."

His brother looked passive for a moment, remembering what had been done to his baby. Sam sympathized. The car had been a mess and he didn't want to say anything to Dean, but he wasn't sure if it could be fixed. Dean's eyes suddenly opened wide and he looked up at Sam. "What?" Sam asked, knowing that look. Dean was making revelations.

"Maybe we're not supposed to drive anywhere," Dean said. "Maybe we're already here."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Things were not looking good. Sam was watching in mild horror as the tow truck heaved the Impala up to the road. Dean had insisted that Sam go and watch out for his baby, telling him to make sure they didn't screw her up. Sam really didn't want to leave Dean by himself, but his brother had finally convinced him it would be okay. Sam did want to get out and visit the town, learn a bit about it, start taking in the faces and finding out if anyone else was seeing the Mothman or other strange things. But he was reluctant to leave Dean alone, just in case the Mothman wasn't done with him. He didn't know why the creature had shown itself two different times to his brother. Sam had finally given in, but only after Dean had confessed he was tired and wanted to sleep. Sam had complied, feeling stupid that he'd been keeping his brother from resting, and told him he'd be back later to bust him out.

Sam had called Earl's tow company and had asked them if they could swing by and pick him up. The guy seemed more than willing to let Sam come, especially after Sam told him the make and model of the car. Ironically, the man had referred to the Impala as "someone's baby." Sam wanted to tell the guy that he had no idea. The tow truck had come to pick him up, with Earl himself driving, and together, they'd driven to the spot where they'd spun out. While Earl had been getting ready to pull the car up, Sam had packed most of the contents of the truck into duffle bags. Only the incriminating contents, guns, knives, weapons. The last thing they needed was for some mechanic to find their stash of weapons. It was a chore getting the car up the incline, but Earl seemed to know what he was doing. The Impala looked bad, but not as bad as Sam had originally thought. The left side of the car was scratched to hell, and the headlight and bumper on the left corner were smashed in. It looked as though the back axle was broken, and one of the tires had blown. But overall, it looked salvageable. Dean would be ecstatic.

Earl gave a low whistle as he strapped the Impala down. "You boys are lucky she didn't flip herself and roll," he said, looking over at Sam.

"Oh yeah?" Sam asked, arms crossed over his chest. It was cold out. Not as bitter as it had been the previous night, but still cold. His breath came out in puffs when he spoke. He'd never liked the cold.

"Yes sir," Earl said, latching the last strap. He patted the truck bed and looked at Sam. "Hop in, we're ready to roll." Sam was more than happy to get back into the truck. He fastened his seatbelt and waited for Earl to climb back in. "Yeah, we've been having a lot of slide offs lately," Earl commented, starting up the truck and pulling out, heading back into town.

"Really?" Sam asked, suddenly interested. He glanced over at the man. Earl looked…harmless for lack of a better way to describe him. He wore a mechanic's jumpsuit and a heavy flannel jacket. He looked as though he were in his late forties, early fifties. His hair was graying, cut short, and he had a beard. His smile was what got Sam. It was a genuine one, one of a man who had learned to appreciate life. Sam didn't see many of those smiles anymore.

Earl nodded, turning up the heat and giving a shiver. "Sure have. It's usual for this time of year, but we've had more of them than ever. Animals in the road and all. I'm blaming the government. They didn't issue enough hunting licenses this year, so now we're overrun with deer. Circle of life, I tell them. We kill, they breed." Sam gave a chuckle, though he found it interesting that people were seeing animals in the road. He wondered if it could be their Mothman. "You a hunter, son?"

Sam gave a snort. "You could say that."

"Well then," Earl said. "You'll fit right in here. Fort Sudak's a hunting town."

"Fort Sudak?" Sam asked.

"Yup. Coziest place on earth." Earl gave a grin. "And good thing too because it looks like you'll be sticking around for a bit."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, looking over his shoulder at the Impala. It almost hurt to see it so banged up. "But you can fix it?"

Earl huffed his chest. "Son, I can fix anything. You give me a week and I'll have her looking like new."

Sam smiled. "That's good news. My brother's sort of attached to the car."

"Ah, so it's your brother's car," Earl nodded and looked over at him. "I didn't think you fit her very well. You look more like a Honda man to me." Earl grinned. "I've got a used one for sale if you want it."

"No thanks," Sam smiled. He turned and looked out the window, watching the scenery pass by. It looked different during the day, less evil. Though, there was still a darkness to the woods that didn't sit very well with Sam.

They drove into Fort Sudak a few minutes later. It was a small town, but very inviting. The downtown was made up of older buildings, and houses pooled out around them. The town had its Christmas decorations up and people were out and about. Earl had been right, it was cozy. Sam wondered briefly if maybe Dean was wrong. Maybe this wasn't the town they were supposed to be in. But he pushed that thought aside. He would bet anything that Point Pleasant had been the same way. Nice, cozy, quiet. The last place on earth anyone would imagine a disaster occurring. Sam let out a sigh and wondered when he had started actually assuming that's what was going to happen.

"Here we are," Earl announced. Sam looked up as they pulled into a graveled parking area. He climbed out of the truck and reached for his wallet, but Earl held up a hand. "Not yet," he said. "Wait until you see the final product before you fork over your money." Earl was grinning. Sam smiled back.

"Thanks," he said. "So, a week then?"

"I'd have it to you sooner, but seeing it's Christmas and all…"

"It's not a problem," Sam assured him. He thanked the man and started walking towards the downtown area. He didn't really feel like sticking around long without Dean, but it couldn't hurt to get a little research done. Besides, he wasn't sure how up to researching his brother would be. Probably a hell of a lot less than usual. Maybe he'd ask around, find out if anything strange was happening recently.

The first shop he came to was a used bookstore. He decided to check it out, mainly because he wanted to get in out of the cold. Opening the door, a bell chimed his arrival. The store looked scattered, shelves all over the place, filled to capacity with books of all kinds. Sam liked these kinds of stores. The ones that had a real humble look to them. Sam had used to go to these types of stores with Jess. He shook the thought out of his mind. He'd done too much reminiscing lately.

"Can I help you?" Sam jumped at the voice and spun around. His hand reached for one of the duffle bags he had slung on his shoulder. But he stopped himself from pulling out anything dangerous as he got a look at the girl who had spoken. She looked to be about Sam's age. She was blonde and wore a pink sweater. She held a stack of books in her arms and was looking at Sam quizzically.

"Um," Sam said, uncertain for a moment. "Actually, Mrs…." Sam waited for an answer.

"Kate," she said curtly.

"Ah," Sam smiled. "Sam, nice to meet you. Well, Kate, I was actually just wondering if there was a motel somewhere around here. My brother and I sort of…crashed our car and we're looking for a place to stay."

Kate eyed the assorted bags in Sam's arms and looked back up at him. "There's one a few blocks down the street." She eyed him again before saying. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"How could you tell?" Sam smirked.

She turned and set the books down on a counter. She didn't turn back around, just started shuffling through the pages. But she continued talking to him anyway. "Your jacket," she said plainly. "People around here know to wear something thicker. They prefer not to freeze to death."

"Uh huh," Sam said, not liking the attitude. He decided to go on to that motel and get them a room. From there, he'd figure out a way to get back to the hospital. "Well, thanks for your help," he said over enthusiastically before heading towards the door.

The woman's voice stopped him again. "You sure there's not a book I could help you find?" She'd said it snobbishly. Sam turned and looked at her, wondering what he'd done to make her angry. Usually it was Dean who pissed off the girls, when they weren't all googily eyed for him. "We've got a sale going on." She sounded unenthused.

Sam decided to try a new tactic. "Actually," he said. "Do you have any books on paranormal legends? My brother thought he saw the Mothman last night and I'm trying to prove to him that the Mothman wouldn't come this far north."

Kate froze and Sam watched her closely, trying to read her rigid body language. Her hand was frozen halfway over a book and her face had paled a shade or two. She looked at him, actually glared would be the better term for the way her eyes studied him. He stood there, trying to look the part of an aloof out of towner. She set down the book patiently and turned to him, her arm slung over the counter and a hand on her hip. "Mothman?" she asked. Sam knew she was trying to sound unimpressed, but he saw the tension still in her shoulders. "There's no such thing."

"Well," Sam shrugged. "You never know. Besides, my brother's a real sucker when it comes to the paranormal."

Kate continued to glare. "Then your brother must be a gullible moron," she said. Sam just stared back at her, trying not to crack a smile. Dean was being made fun of and he wasn't even here. Sam tried to gauge Kate's reaction. He knew that he'd struck a nerve in her somewhere. It confirmed Dean's theory that they were in the right town, at least. "Scientifically, the Mothman can't exist." She turned back to her books, shuffling through them again.

"Did you know that, scientifically, it should be impossible for a bumblebee to fly?" Sam said, watching as she slowly turned to look at him again. He shrugged. "Something about aerodynamics not concurring with the weight and…"

"I know," she broke in. "I watch the Discovery channel too." She took a deep breath and chewed the side of her lip. "I sold the last one this morning."

Sam nodded. "All right," he pretended to not care. "But my brother's gonna be disappointed. Thank you, Kate. It's been a pleasure talking to you." He didn't try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"Back at ya," Kate said dryly. Sam turned and walked out the door, aware that Kate was still watching him as he walked down the road to the motel. That had been interesting. The topic of the Mothman had obviously gotten to her. That had not only confirmed this was the right town, but also that there had been at least one other sighting. Possibly a lot of other sightings, but he'd have to ask around a bit more to really find that out.

"Sam!" The voice made Sam turned and look over his shoulder. Kate was jogging towards him. She had a book in her hand. He stopped and let her catch up. She was breathing hard, gripping the book tightly. She stared at him for a moment, her face completely different from when she'd been smarting off to him inside the store. Now she looked almost scared. She held out the book for him and he took it cautiously. "Free of charge," she said, staring at him for a moment more before turning around and running back into the store.

Sam frowned. That was weird. He looked down at the book and read the title. "American Myths and Legends." Looking back up at the store, he smiled. Okay, so maybe she wasn't so bad after all. He'd have to go back there later and talk with her again, try to get her to talk about why she was so spooked.

Continuing to the motel, Sam got a room and set down his stuff. He hid the bags of weapons in the closet, just to be safe. He rubbed his hands together and blew into them, still chilled from the walk. He looked at the book he'd set on the table. He didn't think there'd be anything in it that they hadn't already read, but it never hurt to have another source of information. Looking at the clock, he saw he still had a bit before he could go and pick up Dean. Deciding to stay in the warmth for a little while longer, he pulled up a chair and opened the book.

Sam was surprised at how many myths and legends there were. The book covered all of the basic ones, and even the not so basic ones. Bigfoot, Jersey Devil, and an assortment of ghost stories. Sam found the Mothman and opened to the page. He laughed at the picture they had used for the creature. It looked like an old horror movie poster. Cheaply drawn. A gray man with wings and antennae. It was a book cover of some sort. He flipped to the next page and started reading.

As he expected, the book didn't tell him anything that they didn't already know. It went a bit more into detail with its descriptions and it had a pretty extensive collection of actual witness statements. But as Sam turned to the last page, he frowned seeing that some of the text had been highlighted. He read the selected passage.

_After the collapse of The Silver Bridge, several credible witnesses reported encounters with a strange man. They described him as being very short and having strange eyes that were covered with thick glasses. He had long, black hair cut squarely and he spoke in a low, halting voice. Witnesses claim that the man was terrifying to talk to, for no apparent reason. The same man was spotted on several separate occasions. Some authors and researchers believe he was the Mothman himself, in human form. Theories are unproven and neither the man, nor the Mothman, have been seen since. _

Sam leaned back. He remembered reading a bit about strange visitors after the bridge had collapsed in Point Pleasant, but none of them had really gone into detail. This, however, was interesting. If they were right, and the Mothman could take human form, it would make Sam and Dean's job a hell of a lot harder. The Mothman wasn't some demon they could exorcise. Sam actually had no idea how to kill it. He supposed they would just try shooting it and see what happened. That is, if they ever found it.

Looking back at the clock, Sam decided that it was time he got back to Dean. If his brother was awake, he was probably going buggy, or wooing some nurse, in which case Sam would like to be there to save the poor girl. He closed the book and stood. Taking out the phone book, he phoned the hospital. After finding out that there was a van service Sam could utilize, he arranged for the van to come pick him up . It would be there in half an hour.

The wait went by quickly and Sam decided he would stand outside until the van showed up, which would be any minute. He leaned against one of the columns that held up the overhang in front of their motel room door. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets. The temperature seemed to have dropped a bit. Yeah, he would definitely convince Dean to buy some winter clothes while they worked on this job.

The sound of laughter caught Sam's attention and he looked to his right. Across the street, two kids were playing in the front yard, their grandmother sat on the porch and a big golden retriever was bouncing around happily. Sam smiled. When they were kids, Sam and Dean had always wanted a dog. Dean had almost convinced their Dad once, saying they needed an attack dog. But the plan had never gone through. Dean always threatened that one day he'd go out and come home with a ferocious devil dog, but he never had. Sam had been a bit disappointed.

A black van with the medical insignia pulled into the parking lot. Sam nodded to the driver and pulled his hands out of his pockets. As he was about to climb in, the grandmother's voice filtered into his ears.

"That's enough now," she was saying. "Time to go inside. Manheim needs his bone."

Sam froze. Manheim needs his bone? It was just what Jess had said in the phone call. He had half of his body inside the van and half still outside. He stared at the grandmother as she disappeared into the house. Looking at the driver, Sam saw he was watching him questioningly. Sam was torn. "Could you wait for a few minutes?" he asked.

The driver looked at his watch. "Only a few. Gotta schedule to keep."

Sam nodded his thanks and closed the door, jogging across the street. He bounded up the steps to the door and hesitated. What the hell was he supposed to say? I overheard you talking to your dog, have you met the Mothman? He grit his teeth, knowing that he couldn't pass this up. He finally just knocked on the door, deciding he would wing it, not mention the Mothman at all, thinking back to Kate's reaction.

The door opened and the elderly woman peered out at him. She looked timid. "Yes?" she asked softly.

Sam smiled, trying to look harmless. "Hi," he chirped. "Um, this is going to sound strange, but my brother and I are looking for a place to buy a cottage, for summer trips. I was just going around and asking people how they liked living here and everything." It sounded lame, but he hoped the woman would buy it.

She eyed him for a while. "It's peaceful," she said, almost snapping.

"Peaceful," Sam repeated, trying to keep the woman from slamming the door in his face. "That's what we're looking for. Just a nice little town, where nothing ever happens. It seems like there's hardly any of those towns left. That is, of course, from what I've seen. Nothing ever happens here, does it?" Sam forced a laugh and a smile. He knew he sounded like an idiot. He was rambling, but he wasn't used to doing this without Dean there to bounce off of. He decided that when this was all over, he was going to convince Dean to take some acting classes with him. It would make their jobs a ton easier.

"No," the woman said. "Now excuse me, my grandchildren are getting antsy." She closed the door before Sam could say anything else. He clenched his hand into fists. That woman was important, somehow, he knew she was. He didn't want to just leave it at that. He had to be here. The Mothman was giving them a clue.

The hospital van honked and Sam turned to look at it. He sighed as he realized he would have to come back later. He didn't think they would get anything out of the woman, but perhaps if they did a little spying. He was sure Dean would be up for that. Spying won over research any day. Sam jogged to the van and hopped inside.

As the van was pulling away, Sam couldn't decide if he was happy or upset that he'd found the first clue. It meant that the phone call really hadn't been from Jess. He knew they were dealing with the Mothman, but a part of him had still wanted to believe it was Jess who had called. But now, he knew for sure.

The Mothman was trying to talk to them.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

When Sam returned to the hospital room, he was immediately concerned by the crestfallen look on his brother's face. Dean was already up and about, which actually didn't surprise Sam all that much. His brother had a tendency to downplay his injuries, so much in fact that there were times when Sam and their father hadn't even known he was hurt until a few days later. It had always enraged Sam when Dean did that. Not only had he been angry with Dean, but also with himself and with their father for not seeing it sooner. It was one of Dean's many quirks that Sam absolutely hated. He promised himself he wasn't going to let that happen this time. He would watch Dean closely to make sure his brother wasn't pushing himself.

So the fact that Dean looked as if someone had just run over the family cat didn't sit very well with Sam. Dean was dressed in a long sleeve shirt and jeans. The same ones he had been wearing when he'd been brought in. The bandage taped to the side of his head looked fresh. Sam could see the beginnings of a wrap around Dean's wrist. In his hands, he held his leather jacket. Sam eyed it and immediately knew the reason his brother looked so defeated. Sam was relieved, he'd expected something worse.

"Hey," Sam announced his presence. Dean looked up briefly at him and Sam nearly chuckled at the dejected look in Dean's eyes. "Everything all right?" Sam played the part of the oblivious observer.

Dean held up his jacket and Sam confirmed what he had originally thought. Blood stained most of the left side of the jacket. Blood that would not come out. "Think chicks dig the bloody murderer look?" Dean asked, his voice lacking the normal cheeriness. Sam couldn't help but smile at his brother's so called misfortune.

"The world will never know," Sam joked, garnering a cross glare from his brother. Sam just grinned and reached for the shopping bag he held in one hand. He withdrew the purchase he'd made just minutes earlier and tossed it at Dean, who caught it awkwardly in one hand. "Santa came early."

Dean's face immediately lit up. Sam had managed to get the driver of the hospital van to stop by a clothing store on the way. He'd picked up some winter clothing and, surprisingly, they had carried a leather winter coat that had just screamed out to Sam as being in Dean's style. Apparently, the screaming had been right because Dean was practically beaming. His eyes scanned the coat, taking in the look and the pockets and everything about it. Then, he grinned and looked up at Sam. "When did you ever believe in Santa?" Dean chided.

Snorting, Sam walked over and took the bloody coat from Dean's hand, watching as his brother, still somewhat painfully, put his new coat on. When it fit him just right, Sam gave himself a silent hoorah and watched his brother appraise himself. "I didn't," he answered honestly. "Dad wouldn't let me."

It was Dean's turn to snort. He gather what little stuff he'd come in with and shoved it into his pockets. Then he gave Sam an almost sad look, one which Sam didn't quite understand. "Yeah, he didn't want to lie to you. He figured when you found out Santa wasn't real, you'd stop believing in everything else too." Sam watched his brother reminisce for a moment. He couldn't figure out what was going through Dean's mind, but he assumed it was something to do with their childhood Christmas's. Unlike himself, Dean had experienced what a normal child's Christmas was like. He'd known what it was like to set out cookies for Santa and to try and stay up late, hoping to see the big man himself come down the chimney. Sam couldn't imagine what the first Christmas without their mother had been like. When John Winchester had given up on traditions. He wondered how he had broke the news to Dean that Santa wasn't real. Sam wouldn't ask, but he thought he knew how his father would have done it: with a drink in his hand and an angry voice. Damn him.

"How's my car?" Dean asked the question tenderly, as though he were afraid of the answer. "And whose working on it? It better not be some back town hick with shit for brains."

Sam chuckled. "No, it's not. His name is Earl and he seemed to recognize the prestige of a '67 Chevy Impala and said he'd be extra careful." Sam smiled at the look of scrutiny Dean was flashing his way. "It should be done in a week."

"A week?" Dean asked, eyes widening. "Oh man. We've never been apart that long."

Sam laughed outright at that. He clapped his brother lightly on the shoulder, still aware that Dean was sporting some pretty nasty bruises. "Don't worry, she's in good hands." Dean merely nodded.

"You find anything fun in town?" Dean asked as he started walking out the door. Sam walked next to him, slowing his pace to Dean's leisurely gait. "And when I say fun I mean like burger joints and bars, not libraries and museums or whatever you college geeks find fun these days."

Sam gave him a quick glare before he straightened his shoulders and nodded. "Actually I did," Sam said, sighing as he realized it was time to get down to business. The life of a hunter, never a moment's rest. Sam told Dean all about Kate at the bookstore and then went on to tell him about the old woman and her dog. "She said it, Dean, the same as what was in the phone call."

"So what does that mean?" Dean asked.

"I'm not positive, but if the Mothman is really trying to warn us that something's going to happen, I think it has something to do with that woman. We need to follow her around, find out what she does, watch where she goes." Sam paused as a doctor walked by. The brothers smiled innocently at him.

As soon as the doctor was past, Dean smacked Sam in the chest. "You wanna play stalker?" he asked, eyes widening with humor. "Sammy, I think I'm rubbing off on you."

Sam scowled at his brother and was about to retort when they came to the front desk. Dr. Marksman, the doctor who had been working on Dean, spotted them and intercepted their retreat. "Mr. Winchester," the man smiled, folding his hands over the clipboard he held to his stomach. Dean smiled at the man, though Sam could tell he was still a little leery of the good doctor. Dean and doctors had never gotten along. His brother was just too stubborn to ever listen to the doctors and treating him proved to be a battle in itself. "It's good to see you up and well again," Dr. Marksman smiled.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Good as new, thanks, Doc."

Dr. Marksman chuckled. "Well I hardly did anything. You've got a remarkably hard head." Sam chuckled at Dean's unflattered look. "Before you go," the doctor held up a finger and turned to the front desk again, searching through some equipment that was scattered among the tables. He found what he was looking for and turned around again, holding out a pill bottle towards Dean. "There's not a pharmacy around here and I heard your car was in for repair. So I had your pain relievers filled right here. This should help with the headache you're no doubt feeling."

Sam turned to look at his brother, wondering if Dean really was that good at hiding his pain. Dean glanced his way before looking back at the doctor and smiling. He took the bottle and said, "Thanks." He shoved them into a pocket without another thought. "I don't think I'll really need them, though."

"Maybe not," the doctor said. "But whether you take those or not, you still have a concussion and you'll be feeling the effects for a few days. It's always good to have them, just in case."

Sam watched his brother half smile at the doctor before nodding and looking his way. "Well, I'm ready to get the hell out of here," he announced, the annoyance obvious in his voice. He turned to leave before Sam could even say anything.

Looking at the doctor, Sam smiled. "Thanks," he said.

"I have a feeling you have your hands full with him," Dr. Marksman grinned.

Sam gave a harsh laugh. "Yeah, but he's not so bad."

Dr. Marksman smiled and nodded. "Good luck to you."

Sam nodded his thanks and jogged to catch up to Dean, who was already at the elevator. They stood in silence for a moment, Sam trying to think of a way to approach the idea of telling his brother that he had to take it easy and Dean's thoughts, no doubt, already going over the hunt in his head. Eventually, it was Dean who broke the silence and spoke first.

"So, we pull a Max Cady and then what? Just wait for the Mothman to jump up behind us? That doesn't really sound like a plan, Sam." Dean asked as the elevator door opened.

The two stepped in and Sam frowned at his brother. "Max Cady?"

Dean turned and gave his brother the look that always made Sam remember that he was the younger brother. Sam may have been more book smart, but Dean was always able to pull strange facts out of some corner of his mind. "Yeah," he said and frowned. "Dude, don't tell me you've never seen Cape Fear." At the blank look on Sam's face, Dean continued. "You know, Robert De Niro, the whole creepy stalker part? Come on…"

"Um, no," Sam admitted. "Can't say that I have."

Dean shook his head. "Man, and you call yourself smart."

"Dean," Sam said calmly. "Knowing movie trivia doesn't make you smart."

The doors to the elevator opened and the two stepped out. Sam saw the hospital van waiting for them and he started walking towards it, Dean following closely behind, still dumbfounded that his brother had missed seeing on the best stalker movies of all time. "No," Dean agreed. "But it does help you assimilate with your fellow Americans."

"Assimilate?" Sam smirked. "Wow, Dean, I'm impressed. Expanding your vocabulary?"

"Shut up," Dean snapped. Sam just laughed. They climbed into the van and headed back into town.

The ride was mostly quiet. They couldn't really talk about their plans with the driver listening and Sam had noticed that as soon as the van started moving, Dean had grown quiet, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Sam could only guess what a car ride was doing for his headache. He kept quiet, allowing Dean to concentrate on keeping the headache at bay and his stomach from revolting. He was almost tempted to suggest that Dean take one of those pain relievers, but he knew where that would get them: nowhere. Sam only hoped that if Dean was really hurting, he'd ignore his stubborn pride for a moment and pop one of those pills.

When they returned to the hotel, Sam thanked the driver and gave him a tip, to which the man seemed eternally grateful. He turned to find Dean leaning against one of the columns. "Which house is hers?" Dean asked.

Sam turned to look across the street and trying to be discrete, he pointed at the house in the middle. "The one with the green shutters," he told Dean. "I don't even know if she's still home. I didn't see a car earlier."

"Let's go over and find out," Dean said, pulling his coat in tighter around him as the wind picked up a bit.

"How?" Sam asked.

"Well, we could do what everyone else does and knock on the door," Dean suggested sarcastically.

Sam shot a glare his way before shaking his head. "No, I've already tried to talk to her. I think we'd spook her if I went back over there again." Sam turned to look at Dean and knew what he was thinking. He stopped that thought before his brother could voice it. "And I don't think a guy with half his face black and blue would make her comfortable either."

Dean looked frustrated. He suddenly let out an angry sigh. "What are we even expecting to get out of her? Sammy, we don't even know what it means. We're in the dark here."

"I know," Sam calmed him. "But until we figure it out, we can't risk losing her. We could miss something important and then lose our chance at stopping whatever it is that's going to happen."

"Well we don't know anything, do we?" Dean said hotly. Sam wanted to say something that would calm his brother down, but the truth was he couldn't. It was true. They really didn't know anything about what they were dealing with. What did they have to work with? A phone call and two sighting of the creature that they suspect is the Mothman. That gave them nothing.

Dean sighed and turned his head to face Sam, though his eyes were closed. Sam frowned. Dean looked utterly exhausted. Sam knew his brother had been pushing himself to recover, but no amount of will could cover the fact that Dean was still hurt. Sam looked back to the house. "Look, it's cold out and you smell like disinfectant," Sam said, smiling at the scowl Dean sent his way. "Why don't we go inside so you can shower. Then you can take a nap and go talk to the Sheriff or someone when you're less tired. I'll stay and watch the house."

For a moment, Dean just stood there staring at him and Sam wondered if he'd said something wrong. But finally, Dean grinned and said, "Well look at you," he praised and punched Sam in the arm, a bit harder than an injured person should be able to. "My littler hunter all grown up."

"Shut up," Sam snapped.

"You shut up," Dean sot back and turned to go into the motel room. "And I don't smell like disinfectant. It's a skin cream. Wild yam or something…" Sam chuckled and followed his brother inside.

Settling down into a chair in front of the window, Sam listened to the sound of the shower running. He'd run to the snack machine quickly while Dean had been getting into the shower, never taking his eyes off the house for more than a few seconds. He knew junk food was probably not the best choice of meals, but they didn't really have the time to go find a nice place to eat.

Alone with his thoughts, Sam's brain was in overdrive. He was trying to piece together everything they had so far. The woman had said, "Manheim needs his bone." That was the first sentence in the phone call that hadn't made sense. Sam took out the paper and laid it down on the table next to him. The next sentence after that had been, "Save my baby." He wondered if that's what they were supposed to be looking for next. But he had no clue what it meant. Whose baby were they supposed to save? The Mothman's? He highly doubted that. He thought that maybe it had been talking about the grandchildren that had been with the older woman, but that didn't make much sense either. How was he suppose to save them? Was something going to happen to them? There were so many questions that Sam didn't have answers to and it was frustrating. Forty six people had lost their lives the last time the Mothman had been around. Sam didn't want that to happen again, especially if the Mothman really was just warning them and wanted them to stop it from happening.

In 1967, the tragedy the Mothman had predicted was the collapse of the Silver Bridge. If it was predicting another tragedy, maybe the best place to start would be to figure out where something like the Silver Bridge incident could happen in Fort Sudak. There weren't any bridges that Sam had seen. The town itself was pretty small. One of the buildings could collapse. Or, he thought he'd heard a train earlier, there could be a train wreck. There were just too many possibilities to explore them all. They needed something more. They needed to figure out what that second clue meant.

The shower stopped, bringing Sam out of his thoughts. He heard Dean moving around in the bathroom and then heard him groan. Sam turned his head to the side. "Everything all right in there?" he called.

"I look like Two-Face!" Dean yelled back.

Sam grinned and settled back into the chair. Yep, everything was fine. He stared out the window at the house across the street, willing the old woman to make a move, do something that would help them figure out what it was they were supposed to be doing.

The bathroom door opened and Dean came out in fresh clothes and a scent that more suited him. He'd taken the bandage off and Sam winced at the sight of the wound. Although it was less bloody than the first time he saw it, it still looked horrible. The stitches still looked fresh and the skin was still a bit swollen around the gash. Sam could see the full extent of the bruising on the side of his brother's face and he had to admit, Dean really did look like Two-Face. But he'd never tell him that, at least not right now.

"Did Old Mother Hubbard make her appearance yet?" Dean asked, grabbing a bag of chips Sam had left him on the table.

Sam shook his head. "Not a peep," he sighed.

Dean clucked his tongue and grabbed his coat. "Well, keep watching. I'll head over to the Sheriff's and see if I can dig anything up."

Sam eyed him. "You sure you don't want to take it easy for a bit?"

Dean looked as though he'd just been insulted. "I've been taking it easy all day. I'm ready for action."

Sam smiled. "Well, be careful," he said, which earned him a funny glare. "I mean it. When I mentioned the Mothman to the girl at the bookstore, she froze up. I don't know how well the Sheriff will react to a stranger coming in and asking questions about it."

"I can handle it, Dad," Dean said, making Sam scowl at him. "Call me if anything happens." Then he was out the door. Sam sighed and watched Dean through the window as he disappeared down the street. He resisted the urge to go after him. He knew Dean was fully capable of handling this, he had, after all, been doing it longer than Sam had. But he also had just been released from the hospital. He may not be on top of his game, which had Sam worried. He just hoped Dean would make the right decisions.

It took him a while, but finally Dean found the Sheriff's Department. He stepped inside, shaking the cold out of his system as he was met with the well heated interior. Looking around, he saw that the place wasn't that big. There were two separate jail cells at the back of the room and only four desks at the front. There was a door that lead to another room off to the side, Dean guessed it went to some kind of break/storage room. Only two of the four officers were there at the moment. One of them was looking at him.

"Can I help you son?" the older Sheriff asked. Dean guessed, by the way the man held himself, that he was the boss. He had a typical Sheriff's hat, the tan cowboy wannabe. He wore a brown shirt and black tie with khakis. He was a bit overweight, which didn't surprise Dean as most officers he met were. He tried to appear cold, but Dean could tell that he was far from a mean man. He could tell by the pictures of his children and the nice potted plant on his desk.

"Yeah," Dean said, turning towards him and walking over to the desk. The Sheriff eyed his head and Dean saw him wince. He mentally high-fived himself as he realized he'd gained sympathy points. He stepped up to the desk and took in a breath. "I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about…weird animals in the area."

The Sheriff eyed him, frowning a bit. He rose his chin a little to look down at Dean. "I ain't a tour guide, son," he said dryly.

"I know," Dean answered, nodding a bit. "It's just that, my brother and I are down here from Stanford, we're students there. And we've been studying the incident that happened in Point Pleasant about forty years ago. Well, we started hearing about some strange things going on down here and decided to come and take a look. And wouldn't you know it, when we're coming into town, I see something in the road and crash my car. My luck, right?" Dean hated playing the upbeat cheery guy, but Sam wasn't here to play the good cop bad cop roles, so he was on his own.

The Sheriff was quiet for a moment before he crossed his arms over his chest. "What's your name?' he asked.

Dean hesitated for a second. They'd used his real name at the hospital, so if he said any other name, it would be cause for suspicion. But did he really want to give his name to a lawman? He was torn for a second before he finally just spit out, "Dean."

"Well, Dean," the Sheriff said. "I can tell you that you and your brother were right. There have been some strange things happening around here." He paused for a second and gave Dean a strange look. "Say, you aren't looking to write a book about all this, are you?"

"Uh," Dean was confused for a second. "Would that be a bad thing?"

"No," the Sheriff shook his head. "Anything to get Fort Sudak a little publicity. Coziest place on earth, you know."

Dean nodded. "Okay," he said.

The Sheriff puffed his chest and hooked his thumbs through his belt. "Well, tell me what you need to know. Anything to help the man whose going to make us famous."

"Uh," Dean said again. "You could start by telling me about the weird things that have been happening."

"Oh," The Sheriff looked around slowly, trying to find a place to start. "There's been so many. Strange lights, strange noises, strange animals, just plain spooky things."

"Spooky things?" Dean asked.

"Oh, all sorts of stuff. Writing on walls, banging in the middle of the night, missing dogs. Those sort of things." The Sheriff nodded towards the right. "Just last night old Ken Poland had something bouncing around on his roof. I went up there myself to try and kill the thing, but there was nothing there. And I trust Ken Poland, he'd never lie about something like that."

Dean leaned forward a bit. "Well, if all this strange stuff is going on, why is this town not in a panic?" he asked.

The Sheriff shrugged and grinned. "Because they know they have Sheriff Wyatt Millard watching out for them. Ain't nothing to fear."

Dean forced a smile. "Uh huh," he nodded. "Could you possibly make me a list of all the people who have seen or heard anything strange?"

"I think I could do that," Sheriff Millard nodded. "It'll take me a while, there's been a lot of 'em."

"That's all right," Dean said. "I can come back and pick it up."

Just as the Sheriff was about to say something, Dean's cell phone rang. He held up a hand, telling the Sheriff to wait a second. Answering the phone he said, "Yeah?"

Sam's voice on the other end sounded excited. Dean soon found out why.

"She's on the move."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Sam was glad that he hadn't been born into a family of spies. Hunting and learning about the supernatural he could do, but spying was a whole different story. He was finding this out the hard way as he tried to blend in with people who all knew each other by name. It was proving to be rather difficult and he suddenly wished that he hadn't suggested that Dean go talk to the Sheriff by himself. Dean was good at this kind of stuff, he was not.

So, as Sam sat on a freezing metal bench with the snow falling lightly around him, he watched as the older woman he'd been following met up with a few other townspeople and began putting up Christmas decorations along the railing that separated the sidewalk from the river. It was slow going and Sam could tell he'd be there for a while. He thought about giving up and heading back to the motel room to rethink this plan of theirs. But that was just it, this was their only plan. If he gave up now, there was nothing else they could do aside from waiting for the Mothman to show himself again. And, considering the last time the Mothman showed his face had resulted with Dean in the hospital, Sam wasn't so sure he wanted to take that route.

Dean was on his way, but it would take him a few minutes to get down to the river path. Sam was glad that he had decided to stop and buy them some winter clothes. He had a hat pulled down over his head, with some of his straggly hair sticking out from underneath it. But even with all the winter clothing on, Sam still felt cold. He decided he needed something to keep himself busy until Dean arrived, so he began thinking about the next clue and what it could mean.

Save my baby. There were so many possibilities. When Sam had first gotten the phone call, this part of the message had stuck out at him. It had made him think of the life that he could have possibly had with Jess. A life that had been so crudely taken away from him. Sam had been planning on marrying Jess. Maybe not any time soon, but he had it in his mind to make it happen. He had dreamt so many times of what it would be like to call Jess his wife. To move into a real house together and start a family. To have children. That's why when he'd heard Jess talk about what he thought was "her baby," it had hit him hard.

A part of him couldn't even imagine what being a father would be like. Probably because his own hadn't exactly been father of the year. Sam didn't hate John. There were times when he thought he did, when he could actually convince himself that he could care less what happened to the man. But in the end, Sam knew that he'd never hate the man. John Winchester wasn't perfect, but then again, who was? He was still the man who had raised him. Still his flesh and blood, still his father. Sam had never understood why a man would devote his entire life to such a dangerous cause. Why he would raise his sons to fight for the same thing, why he would risk their lives on a daily basis. Sam still didn't agree with most of it, but after Jess died, he began to see what was driving their father to devote his life to such a cause. It was the same thing that was now driving Sam.

But Sam didn't know if he'd continue with it all if he had a son of his own. If Jess placed a baby in his arms and Sam knew it was his, he didn't know if he could continue to fight the evils in the world. Not when he had so much to lose. And that's the part of Sam that would never understand. How could a man put his children in the line of fire like that? How could a man open up his children to such horrors? It didn't make sense to Sam, and he supposed now he would never truly find out, because Jess was never going to put a baby into his arms, she was never going to scream and cry in delight as he got down on one knee and showed her a diamond, she was never going to stand by his side one last time and tell him that everything would be okay. The opportunity for that life had come and gone, too quickly for Sam to get a grasp on what it really felt like.

Though, Sam could still almost picture the son he'd never have. He could almost see himself driving his son to Little League, or letting his son crawl into bed when he had a nightmare, or watching him go off to his first day of school, get his heart broken by his first crush, graduate and be successful and live and love. Sam could almost see all of these things, but every day, the images were fading slowly as he realized day and day again that Jess was gone, and with her, all hope of the family of his dreams.

Sam took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. His thoughts were drifting down a dangerous path and he didn't want to go there now. There was no use imagining everything that could have been. It was better to remember what was. Those were always the happier memories.

"You just had to pick the coldest fucking bench in the park," came Dean's voice. Sam turned his head and watched his brother approach him, hands stuffed into his pocket and collar turned up, shielding himself from the wind. Dean wasn't wearing the hat Sam bought for him, but Sam understood why when he saw the bruises again.

As Dean sat down, Sam thought about something else that would never be. Dean would never be an uncle. The thought of Dean as an uncle almost made Sam chuckle. He could picture his brother showing his little nephew all the tricks of the trade. How to sneak snacks after bedtime, how to weasel your way out of situations, how to stab a monster in the heart so it stays good and dead. Sam wondered what would have happened if he hadn't come along with Dean on this hunt to find their father and if Jess hadn't died. He wondered if he would have even thought to invite Dean to the wedding or if he would even introduce him to his nephew. Sam had tried to shut himself off from his family for four years. Would he have changed all that when he had a growing family of his own? Sam couldn't find the answer. He wanted to think that he would have called on Dean and would have told him everything, that he would have put his grudge against his father to the side and would have invited Dean back into his life. But Sam didn't know if that would have ever happened. Before he went to college, Sam never thought that he'd spend four years of his life trying to forget he even had a family.

"Sam?" Dean's voice said softly. Sam snapped out of it and looked at his brother, seeing the way Dean was watching him closely. "You all right?"

Pushing away the bad thoughts altogether, Sam smiled, a genuine smile that came easily. "Yeah," he said, more honestly than the answer had been in a while. Dean would never ask and Sam would never tell, but in a way, in some far corner hidden underneath all the grief and despair he felt over losing Jess, one good thing had come from it all. And that good thing was sitting on the bench next to him, looking at him as though he had sprouted wings. "I'm fine," Sam said.

"Yeah okay," Dean said, letting Sam know that he didn't believe him but moving on anyway. "Where's our girl?"

Sam's eyes stayed on the side of Dean's face for a moment, the lingering appreciation making Sam almost want to reach out and hug his brother. But he swallowed whatever emotions he was feeling and remembered that right now, they had a job to do. He nodded his head towards where the older woman was. "Right there," he said. Dean turned to look. "You get anything out of the Sheriff?" Sam asked.

Dean snorted and leaned back against the bench, snuggling into his coat some more. "He was a regular Dudley Do Right," Dean said bitterly. "I told him we were writing a book on his quiet little town and he forked over everything we need to know."

"Really?" Sam asked, surprised. They weren't normally that lucky when it came to lawmen.

"Yeah," Dean nodded, his eyes still on the older woman down the sidewalk. "He's making us a list of everything weird that's been reported. I got the feeling it's been going on for a while."

Sam sighed and leaned back, eyes drifting to the river. "In Point Pleasant, the sightings went on for over a year."

Dean shook his head, irritated. "Well then, maybe we should look into settling down for a bit. Get that white picket fence you always wanted. Hell, we could even get a blue collar job to pass the days by, how does that sound?" Sam frowned but decided he would ignore that comment. He wanted to cherish the rekindled brotherly love he felt for a moment more before Dean managed to stomp it out yet again. "Maybe we're doing this all wrong," Dean said. Sam shot him a look and Dean continued before his brother could say anything. "I mean, nothings happening. Maybe we missed something."

"Be patient," Sam smiled and watched as Dean slouched in his chair and seemingly started pouting the way a teenager would. It was a technique both of them had used against their father many times when they were kids. It hadn't worked then, and it wouldn't work now. "Rome wasn't built in a day."

Dean turned and scowled at his brother. "No, but Rome didn't have evil demons to be hunting. I don't do the waiting thing, Sam."

Chuckling, Sam stood and patted his brother on the shoulder. "Well, do it for five minutes while I go get some coffee. I'm freezing and you look like you're about to drop."

"Oh, that's right," Dean grumbled. "Leave me on Grandma duty."

Sam just rolled his eyes and started up the path to the diner that was at the edge of the park. He went inside and was instantly relieved from the cold. Rubbing his hands together, he stepped up to the counter and smiled at the waitress there. "Is it possible to just get two coffees to go?" Sam asked.

The waitress eyes him but turned and barked an order at a teenager who was leaning against a table doing nothing. The teenager grumbled something back but began filling up two cups anyway. Sam accepted the coffee, paid, and then headed back towards Dean. His brother was still slouched on the bench but when Sam held out the coffee to him, he perked up and accepted it like he was a child accepting a cookie. Sam grinned and went to sit down when he was interrupted by a voice from behind him.

"Sam?" Both brothers turned towards the voice, Dean tensing slightly. Kate, the girl from the bookstore, stood just down the sidewalk a bit. She wore a white parka and carried a backpack over her shoulders. She didn't look happy to see him, but she didn't look upset either, so Sam figured that was a plus.

"Kate," Sam acknowledged, nodding his head. Kate looked from him to Dean, who was still seated on the bench, looking between the two as if he'd missed something grand. Sam turned to Dean and held out his hand. "Um, this is my brother, Dean."

On cue, Dean stood and gave one of his most flirtatious grins. "Well hello Kate," he said, holding out his hand.

Kate didn't take it. Dean lowered his hand slowly to his side and Sam couldn't help but smile a bit at the obvious rejection of his brother's flirtation. Kate walked up and stood in front of Sam. "I didn't expect to see you here…" she seemed at a loss for a second before correcting herself, "I mean, I thought you'd be out doing your silly Mothman research by now."

Sam shrugged. "Yeah, well, I got a warmer coat so I thought I'd try to fit in with the natives," Sam said smartly. He waited for a reaction out of the woman and after a moment, she gave him a lopsided smile. He chuckled himself, showing her that he was joking. "Hey, I didn't get a chance to thank you earlier, for the book."

For a moment, it looked as if he'd spooked her again and Sam wanted to smack himself. He'd wanted to talk to Kate about all the Mothman hype in town, but he knew he had to ease her into that conversation. She didn't seem that willing at all to talk about it. But, after a moment she nodded her head. "I thought you could use it." Her eyes drifted to Dean for a moment and in an obvious attempt to change the subject, she frowned at him and said, "Is your head okay?"

Dean grinned and Sam knew the answer before his brother even had to say it. "Oh, yeah, I always look this handsome."

Kate looked unimpressed as she nodded and then shook her head. "Right," she said. "Well, good luck with all of your…research and everything. I'm going to be late picking up my kids from daycare."

"Kids?" Dean huffed.

Kate gave him a condescending look. "Yes," she said. "Some people mature when they become adults and find husbands and have kids."

Dean snorted. "Well I ain't looking for a husband, sweetheart."

By the look Kate gave his brother, Sam was sure that there was about to be a butting of two heads. He decided to stop it before it got started. "Kate," he said, bringing the woman's attention to himself. "When I asked you earlier about the Mothman, you flinched." He watched her for a moment as her eyes searched his face for any possible retreat from the whole conversation. She reminded Sam of a cornered animal. "You know something."

With a shake of her head, Kate forced a smile and said, "No." She looked nervous. "The Mothman is a myth. IT was a movie that scared my kids. Nothing more."

"It was based off true events," Dean added. Sam gave him a sideways glance, hoping that his brother would catch on that Kate didn't like him so well. Dean didn't seem to notice.

Kate sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. "So was the Amityville Horror."

"Exactly," Dean said, frowning like he didn't understand what the problem was. Sam sighed as he realized he probably didn't.

Sam took a step forward, blocking Dean off from Kate. He heard his brother give a gruff huff, but he ignored him for the moment. "Kate, please," he said, looking her straight in the eye. "If you know something, if you've seen anything or something strange happened, please just tell us. We're here to help."

For a moment, Sam thought that he'd gotten through to the woman. She stood looking terrified and hopeful all at once. Sam urged her with his eyes to tell him what she'd seen, because as he recognized the hope in her eyes, he knew that she had seen something. No one was hopeful unless they had something to be hopeless about. But finally, Kate shook her head and looked away, biting her lip.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "The Mothman is a scary kids tale, nothing more." She pushed past them, connecting her shoulder hard with Dean, who grunted. She muttered an apology as she walked off.

"You sure got a way with the ladies, Sammy," Dean said, clapping Sam on the shoulder. Sam only sighed as he watched Kate walk off down the sidewalk, following the river. He glanced back to where the older woman was still putting up decorations.

"The people in this town know something," Sam said absently. "No one but your Sheriff buddy will talk to us. They're all scared."

Dean shrugged his shoulders, taking a sip of his coffee. "Yeah, well, fear means the Mothman's doing his job. At least they'll be on guard."

Sam shook his head. "That's not going to stop it from happening." He sighed and put a foot up on the bench, remaining standing as Dean took a seat. Sam glanced down at his brother and saw Dean lift a hand to the still freshly stitched gash on his head. His brother's eyes were closed and Sam frowned. He'd promised to keep Dean from pushing himself. Dean hadn't even laid down after getting out of the hospital. He had to be running on fumes by now. "Maybe you should go back to the motel and get some rest," Sam suggested. "I can watch her for a while."

Dean glanced up at him, annoyance in his eyes. "If you suggest I rest one more time so help me God I'll snap you in half." Sam chuckled slightly but saw the way Dean leaned back against the bench tiredly.

"Maybe you should take one of those pain relievers," Sam tried again.

"Sammy, I'm fine," Dean started. Sam cut him off.

"Dean, you're not fine," Sam tried to protest, but was broken off by the sound of a high pitched laugh. Both the brothers turned to look at the source and saw a group of three kids playing by the railing. A woman was talking on her cell phone, her back turned to them. For some reason, Sam felt compelled to watch the kids. He couldn't explain why, but he just knew he had to.

As if watching a train wreck happen before his eyes, Sam knew that nothing good could come out in the end. One of the kids, a little boy about seven years old, jumped up onto the bottom rung of the railing. He was laughing and shouting and playing with the other two as they tried to joyfully pull him of. Sam felt his chest well with fear as he could practically see what was about to happen.

The little boy tried to climb up onto the next rung, the one closest to the top, but as he got one foot up, one of the kids made a grab for his wrist, taking away his support on the railing. The boy, with a scream of terror, tumbled head over heels into the freezing, rushing river below. Sam was on his feet and moving in an instant, Dean right behind him.

The woman on the cell phone turned and with wide eyes, let out a scream. She dropped the phone and ran to the railing. "Eric!" she screamed, terrified. Everyone that had been on the sidewalk had frozen, all of their attention on the now hysterical mother as she ran along the railing, following her son who was bobbing and screaming in the water below. "Oh God!" she screamed again. "Someone help him! Someone save him! Save my baby!"

Sam had his coat off in an instant. He turned and saw Dean doing the same. He knew he didn't have time to argue, but Sam really didn't want his brother with the head wound to go into the water. So it was time to use force. "No," he said firmly. Dean gave him a surprised look. "We'll need someone to pull us out," Sam said and without waiting for Dean to answer, he ran alongside the mother before grabbing the rail and launching himself off the sidewalk and into the freezing water below.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

The cold was so intense that for a moment, Sam thought he'd been frozen beneath the surface. It took his breath straight out of him and the shock from the frigid temperature alone was enough to make Sam's vision blur for a moment. But he gathered himself quickly, remembering the panicked screams of the mother whose son had fallen into the same icy waters. He kicked his legs, realizing painfully that the freezing water was quickly consuming his energy. He had to make this quick. He'd been in the water less than a few seconds and already he was losing his strength. The little boy needed to be pulled out. Now.

Breaking the surface, Sam pulled in a loud gasp of air, irritated at how painful it sounded. The river was carrying him swiftly in its current and he noticed with concern that he was already shivering and his teeth were already clattering. So maybe it hadn't been the smartest idea to jump into the river, but there was no turning back now. Painstakingly, he began moving his arms and legs, swimming towards the limp little body of the boy. He wasn't moving and Sam used that sight to find some new burst of energy and tolerance that he didn't think he had in him.

Along the bank, Dean ran ahead, along with a few other townspeople, alternating between trying to find a place to pull his brother out of the water and glancing back at Sam to make sure that he wasn't drowning. He was cussing and slinging derogatory insults towards his brother for being an idiot and jumping into freezing water, though he wouldn't acknowledge that he had been ready to do the exact same thing. But Sam had stopped him with an authority that he had rarely seen his brother use. Sam had pulled it on him before, most recently when they'd been fighting a demon that was crashing airplanes. That whole venture was something that Dean didn't want to relive any time soon. He hated admitting weakness and his fear of flying was a goddamn shitty weakness.

Dean watched with admiration as Sam reached the young boy, pulling him in close to his body and struggling to keep both their heads above water. It was time to get them out of there. Dean bounded ahead, ignoring the throbbing pain that was nearly making his head twitch with every beat against his skull. As he saw a set of stairs that lead to a small fishing spot, which was currently under water, Dean darted over to it, absently calling to the five or so people who were following him to do the same. They bounded down the stairs and Dean wasn't hesitant to get thigh deep into the water, wading out as far as he could go without being swept away.

"Sam!" he yelled. He didn't know if his brother heard him or not. Sam didn't respond and seemed to have slowed down his water treading. Their heads kept dipping beneath the surface and coming back up again. Dean felt a spike of panic race through him. He tore off his coat and threw it towards the steps. He fumbled with his belt buckle for a moment before whipping it out of its loops. Then he turned and handed one end to someone behind him, grasping the other tightly in his fist. "Hold this," he demanded and didn't wait to see if the man had a strong grip before he stepped off the fishing platform and was completely submerged in the water. He was shocked with the cold, but grit his teeth and pushed himself to the surface.

Sam and the boy, Eric, were floating closer. Dean gave an inward sigh of relief as he saw Sam had started kicking again towards him. Sam's face looked pained and pale. He must be fucking freezing, Dean thought. He reached out a hand, signaling for his brother to grab hold of it. "Come on, Sammy!" he yelled, hearing his own voice shiver with cold. Sam was making strained grunts with every kick of his legs. For a moment, Dean thought that Sam wouldn't be close enough for him to grab a hold. But with another strong kick, Sam pushed himself towards Dean. Dean got as firm a hold as possible into Sam's shirt and immediately he felt himself being pulled back in. His belt buckle was digging painfully into his frozen fingers and he almost lost his grip, but then strong hands grabbed his shoulders.

Dean didn't let go of Sam, not on his life. Two other people grabbed Sam and one grabbed Eric, immediately taking the boy up the stairs and to the people awaiting up top. Distantly, Dean heard the mother's cries and pleas for her boy to be all right. He heard counting and realized someone was performing CPR. The hands that held onto Dean's shoulders lifted him up. A new set of hands tried to get Dean to let go of Sam's shirt, but he grunted and fought against it. No way. He was not letting go of his brother until they were on safe and dry land.

Sam's mind was fuzzy. His strength finally failed him and he let the hands that were holding onto him guide him up and out of the water. He was aware that the boy had been taken from his arms and he was now being half carried half dragged up the stairs. Someone was holding onto his shirt but when he tried to lift a hand to feel who it was, his body protested and he went slack, feeling himself slowly drifting to sleep.

A light, yet sharp smack across the face brought Sam instantly back into the waking world. Someone was taking off his shirt and pants. He felt a moment's panic before something warm and soft was wrapped around his entire body. He realized that he wasn't outside anymore. He wondered when that had happened. His body was practically convulsing with shivers. Something warm was suddenly pressed to the sides of his neck and on his feet. It stung a bit at first but then sank into a comfortable return of feeling.

After a while, Sam didn't know how long, he had slowly come back to full awareness. He was stripped down to his boxers, wrapped in a blanket with lukewarm washcloths on his feet and by his neck. He was inside somewhere. It looked like a coffee shop, though he couldn't tell because his nose was too cold to actually smell anything. Outside, there were flashing red and white lights. Someone was rubbing his arms rapidly through the blanket.

Lifting his head with more strength that it should have taken, he took a quick look around. There were several people there. He didn't recognize any of them. Two of them were dressed in EMT uniforms. They were talking rapidly with each other only a few feet away from him. Another man stood off to the side, watching whatever commotion that was going on outside. Sam turned his head a little to get a look at who was rubbing his arms. He frowned as he realized who it was.

"Kate?" he asked, his voice still shaky. The blonde woman looked down at him as he said her name. She gave a soft smile. "What are you…" He didn't get a chance to finish as the EMTs moved in like vultures. Instantly, Kate was moved away from him and one man checked his pulse and pupils as the other bent in front of him and looked him square in the eye.

"Sam?" he asked. Sam could only guess that Kate had told him his name. "Are you with us?" Sam nodded and the EMT smiled warmly. "Good. How do you feel? Does anything hurt? Can you breathe all right?"

So many questions. "I'm cold," Sam said absently as he suddenly realized that it should have been someone else asking these questions. He looked around, trying to catch sight of his brother. He was instantly worried when he didn't see him. "Where's Dean?" he demanded.

The EMT looked at Kate. She moved back into Sam's line of sight. "He's fine," she assured him quickly.

As if on cue, the front door burst open. Everyone in the room turned to see Dean marching himself in, wrapped in a blanket like Sam. Someone had given him a pair of boots that were two sizes too big. He quickly caught sight of Sam and shuffled over. "You're the biggest idiot I know," he spat. It wasn't exactly the concern Sam had expected, but he recognized it as the tail end of some pretty serious worrying on his brother's part.

Dean reached out from beneath the blanket and put the back of his hand to Sam's forehead. Instantly, he looked over at the closest EMT. "He's still cold, you're supposed to be warming him up." The venom in his voice made Sam smile. He turned to look at the unusually calm EMT, who Sam guessed was used to dealing with irate family members.

"Sir," he said, reaching out and guiding Dean into a chair without having to use much force. Sam frowned at that. "We have to warm him up slowly," he explained. "Too quickly and he could sustain some serious injuries. He's doing fine, though. Ask him yourself."

Dean gave one last glare at the medic before turning his head to look at Sam, who smiled at him in answer. "You're an idiot," Dean spat again, though he was starting to calm down.

"You're an asshole," Sam retorted, though he couldn't quite keep the smile off his face. He turned his head to look at the EMTs and Kate, who was standing by idly, watching the interaction with slight amusement. "How's the little kid, Eric?" Sam asked softly.

"They're taking him to the hospital," Kate answered. "They think he'll be all right." She paused before crossing her arms over her chest. "I didn't know you were a hero." When she smiled then, Sam realized it was the first time he'd seen the woman genuinely smile. It didn't look half bad on her.

"I'm not," Sam said softly, taking a breath as one of the EMTs crouched in front of him again.

"We should be taking you to the hospital," he said. "But you seem to be doing all right. We'll give you one last look over then we'll stop the poking and prodding, I promise," he said lightly. Sam nodded.

The other EMT turned to Dean. "Let me have a look at that gash on your head, make sure you didn't rip open the stitches." Sam watched as Dean looked at the EMT warily before moving his head to the side. He didn't miss the wince in his brother's face as the man fingered the wound. Dean closed his eyes, concentrating on keeping his face calm and placid. Sam thought his brother looked far too pale, but he didn't know whether to attribute it to the pain or to the near freezing to death.

After a few minutes of final check ups and a recommendation for both of them to stay in bed and get their strength back, the EMTs stood and made their leave. Kate walked around behind the counter and came back with their coats and some clothes that Sam didn't recognize. She handed them to the brothers. "We found your coats and Ken here has offered to share his wardrobe."

The other man who had been standing by quietly grinned at that and nodded towards the clothes in the boys' hands. "My son's actually. He won't be needing them anymore." The last part was said sadly, but Sam didn't want to pry. He stood slow, testing his strength. He was happy to find that it was returning, albeit slowly. He was still exhausted from the whole ordeal.

"Couldn't wait to get our clothes off," Dean mumbled. Kate turned and gave him a glare as Sam chuckled a bit to himself. They got dressed, moving slowly with achy muscles. When they were done, Kate gave them back the blankets with they wrapped around themselves quickly and Ken handed each of them a cup of coffee which they accepted gratefully.

Sam sat back down, his legs suddenly too tired to keep him up. Kate stood next to him and he looked up at her. She seemed to be watching them protectively and he couldn't understand why. Their encounters with each other had been less than friendly, but now she seemed almost motherly to them. "Thought you were going to pick up your kids?" Sam asked softly.

Kate looked towards him. "I was but I heard about the accident on the police scanner in my car. I had my husband pick them up."

"Why do you have a police scanner?" Dean asked.

Kate was quiet and for a moment, Sam thought she was just going to ignore the question. But then she gave quietly, "I like to know what's going on."

Ken was shuffling about again, bringing out a pot of coffee and refilling the boys' cups just as soon as they took sips it seemed. Sam finally had to cover the top of his with his hand before the man could fill it up again. Ken gave a hearty chuckle and set the pot down. Sam looked over at his brother and frowned when he noticed Dean watching Ken with scrutiny in his eye. Before he could get his brother's attention, Dean spoke.

"You wouldn't happen to be Ken Poland by any chance?" Dean asked.

The man stopped and gave Dean a questioning look. "Yes, as a matter of fact. How did you know?"

Dean set his cup down and pulled the blanket in around him a bit tighter. "Just a guess," he said, looking at the man. "I was talking with the Sheriff today…"

"Wyatt?" Ken broke in with a grin. "Bet that son of a bitch was complaining about how I whooped his ass in poker last night. We's good hunting buddies."

Dean smiled patiently and he seemed to hesitate for a second. Sam frowned, wondering what his brother was planning on doing. But he didn't get a chance to figure it out as Dean went on. "Actually, he told me about the strange noises you were hearing last week at your house."

Ken didn't seem fazed, much to both Sam and Dean's relief. "Oh, them," he said with a chuckle. "Yeah I had me a visit with the Mothman. Creepy son of a bitch."

Kate gave a soft scoff and unfolded her arms. "It wasn't the Mothman, Ken. It was probably an owl or some bird."

"That was no damn owl, I know owls and that wasn't one," Ken all but shouted. He pointed at Dean, who was watching the scene almost detachedly. "This was a damn big monster. Nearly tore my roof off."

"There is no such thing," Kate demanded, looking flustered and irritated. "What's wrong with all you people? Use your common sense."

Ken shooed her with a swat of his hand and looked at both Sam and Dean. "She just don't want to admit she had her own little date with our winged buddy." Sam looked at Kate, now interested. He had suspected that she'd had some type of encounter with the Mothman by the way she reacted to any mention of it. Kate looked ready to break something in half. Sam knew that now was the time to intervene.

Standing slowly, Sam put the blanket that he had wrapped around himself down and held out his hands to both Ken and Kate, telling them to stop their argument. "Kate," Sam said, turning to her. "I know it doesn't make any sense for there to be a Mothman. But there is. We've both seen it," Sam swiped his finger between himself and Dean.

Kate's eyes teared up a bit and Sam couldn't help but feel a little bad about all of this. But the sooner she accepted the truth, the sooner they could help. And, if she believed them, maybe she could help. "How do you know it wasn't just some new species of bird or something? Dean snorted and Sam blatantly ignored his brother.

"Because I got a call from my girlfriend," Sam said gently. He hesitated to go on, knowing how much it would hurt to say the next part.

"So?" Kate asked, shaking her head.

Sighing, Sam tried to smile but failed as he said, "She's dead. Has been for a while." The room was silent for a bit. Sam was waiting for the information to sink in. Kate looked both horrified and confused. Sam finally decided to go on. "It was the Mothman," he said, watched Kate's eyes roam over his face, probably looking for the concealed lies behind his eyes. "He said things that didn't make sense to me until just this morning when I started hearing the same things being said around town."

"We think it's predicting a disaster," Dean interjected. Sam turned to look at him. They were way out of their league with this one and they both knew it. Sam had known that they'd need help with this. Ken and Kate seemed like as good of people as any. "Just like it did forty years ago."

"But this time we're listening," Sam said, looking between Kate and Ken. "And we're going to stop it."

Ken was the first one to say anything. "Well I believe you," he said, breaking the solemn mood with the cheerfulness in his voice.

"Good man," Dean shot at him, giving him a slight punch in the arm.

"What's the plan?" Ken asked, looking eager.

Sam sighed and smiled at the man, glad finally that someone was willing to help them. He explained to them about the phone call, about Dean's encounter with the Mothman and then he told them about the accident. "I heard the first part across from the motel. A woman said it to her grandchildren. So I followed her around and that's when I heard the next one when Eric fell into the river."

"What do you think it means?" Ken asked, but Sam didn't turn to him. His eyes were still on Kate, who hadn't said a word through the whole thing.

Sam finally looked away from her and shrugged. "Well, we followed one to find the next, so I think if we stay with Eric, we'll find the next one too."

"And I've got the Sheriff making us a list of all the sightings," Dean said. "I'll try to ask around and see if I can get anything else to work with."

"I could help ya with that," Ken said. "I know most of them people. They'll talk to me." Dean nodded.

Sam turned to look at Kate again. She was staring blankly at a spot on the floor. "Kate?" Sam asked, hoping that they had finally won her over. They could use all the help they could get and Kate seemed to have a smart head about her, even if she didn't believe them about the Mothman.

Kate shook her head and looked up at both of them before sighing. "You're both exhausted," she said bitterly. Sam watched her, feeling his spirits drop slightly. "You're barely staying on your feet," she shot at Sam. She was half right. He was tired, but if he needed to go on, he would. Winchesters bounced back quickly, for the most part. Kate blew air out of her mouth and then quirked her lips into an almost grimace. What she said next surprised Sam. "I'll sit with Eric."

"What?" Sam asked, just to make sure he'd heard her right.

"I'll sit with Eric," Kate repeated more firmly. "You two need to get some rest. I know the family, so they won't mind me being there. I'll stay with him and watch out for the next clue."

"Are you sure?" Dean asked.

Kate nodded but didn't look up at them. "Yeah," she whispered. "If you're right, about a disaster coming, I want to help stop it. I've known the people in this town since I was a kid."

"Kate," Sam said, knowing the feeling. "I'll come with you. It's not fair for you to do this by yourself."

She gave a scoff and looked at him, her normal flare back in her eyes. "You nearly drowned and froze to death. It you want to help us, then get some sleep and help us when you're not about to collapse."

"Yeah," Ken chimed in, clapping Dean on the shoulder. Sam saw Dean wince slightly and any remaining arguments he had about resting suddenly left. Dean needed to rest and he wouldn't do it if Sam went with Kate. Stubborn ass. "I'll give you boys a ride."

Sam nodded his thanks and turned to Kate. "Call me if anything happens," he said. "Don't try to do this by yourself."

Kate smiled smarmily and licked her lips. "What?" she asked cockily. "I can't be a hero like you?"

Shrugging, Sam smiled as he said, "I'd prefer you leave that to us."

The two looked at each other for a moment. Sam wasn't sure what exactly he felt towards Kate. They hadn't really hit it off at first, but now, he was finding himself feeling more and more like he could trust her. As they were looking at each other, Sam couldn't help the feeling of familiarity and trust that was creeping into his mind. He realized suddenly why he felt so comfortable with her. She reminded him of Jess.

The moment was ruined though as Dean stood up, ready to make some smart ass remark but instead he suddenly swayed on his feet. Sam turned quickly and reached out a hand to steady him. All thoughts of Jess and Kate were suddenly pushed to the side as he focused on his brother. Dean's face was still pale, even though they both had been warming up. The bruises stood out horribly on his pale skin. He was blinking his eyes pretty rapidly, trying to fight off the dizziness he'd just felt.

"Dean?" Sam asked, still holding his brother in place.

"I'm good," Dean said after a moment when he seemed to have collected himself again. He brushed Sam's hand off and turned to Ken. "Well I'm ready," he said and was walking towards the door before Sam could protest.

Turning to Kate, he saw her still smiling. "You should get him to bed," she said softly.

Sam nodded in agreement. "You'll be okay?"

"I'm always okay," she answered. Sam hesitated a moment before he accepted the answer and turned to follow Ken and his brother out the door.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

By the time Ken dropped the brothers off at the motel, it was dark. He assured them that he'd bring the list of sightings over in the morning. Sam was more than thankful that they'd finally found people who were willing to help them. He was beginning to get a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach when he thought about what they were trying to do. The Mothman was a big thing, bigger than anything they'd gone up against before. And Sam wasn't even sure if they were working against the Mothman or with it. He was getting frustrated trying to figure out the clues. Together, they meant nothing. They were just sentences and it made Sam think that maybe the clues weren't clues, but directions, like on a map. He wondered if he were to follow them long enough, perhaps they would lead him towards figuring out what it was they were supposed to be stopping.

It was all so confusing and they were practically running on empty. Sam could still feel the effects of the freezing water in his sore limbs and still tight chest. Coupled with the overwhelming knot of worry that had formed itself in the pit of his stomach, Sam felt utterly drained. But he knew he had to tough it out. He had to tough it out because if he didn't, a lot of people would get hurt and the guilt he would feel afterwards was something that he didn't want to deal with. Guilt was an emotion he knew too well, he didn't need to be reacquainted.

And through it all, through everything they'd found out and everything they'd had to deal with, Sam found himself hoping that Jessica would call again. God how he wanted to hear her voice again. When he'd gotten the phone call and had heard her say his name, it had felt as thought something inside of him had ignited again, something that had been extinguished for a while. Her words, as random as they had been, had fueled his inner desire to hold her again, to touch her again, to see her again. It had reminded him of how much he missed her, how much he hated the fact that she was gone, never to come back. He'd give anything to have her call again, anything just to hear her say his name one more time, even if it wasn't truly her. He just wanted to hear her voice, like an addict given a taste of something he'd long since quit. He needed more, and the pain of not having it was enough to make him ache with sores he didn't even know he had.

Dean slammed the door shut behind them and Sam turned to see a semi-sheepish look cross his brother's face, though it was lost amongst the bruises and the heavy bags that had formed underneath his eyes. They'd stopped to get some carry-out and Sam was annoyed when he realized he should have been hungry but wasn't. In fact, just the smell of the food made him nauseous. But he knew he had to suck it up and eat something, because if he didn't, Dean would get worried about him instead of worrying about himself. So Sam took one of the boxes and practically fell into a chair. He took a bite of what he guessed was supposed to be lasagna and looked up at his brother. Dean was removing his coat, rather gingerly. He sat down on the bed and grunted as he leaned over to take off his shoes. Sam guessed he was completely unaware that he was being watched because he had such a grimace on his face that Sam was somewhat tempted to offer help.

Finally, Dean had managed to strip down to just his pants and a t-shirt. Sam noticed the bruised left arm and the bandaged right wrist. God he must have been sore. Instead of watching his brother painfully gain his feet, Sam grabbed the other carry-out box and handed it over to him. Dean's eyebrows cocked at that, but he accepted it and then crawled backwards on the bed until he was leaned against the headboard. The brothers ate quietly for a moment, neither one of them too overjoyed to be forcing themselves to eat.

After just a few bites, Dean put the food on the side table and grabbed the remote, turning on the television and flipping through the channels. Sam followed suit by putting his food down but rose to his feet and glared at the television for a moment before turning back to his brother. "You should get some sleep," he said.

Dean eyed him with a cocky looked and smiled. "This coming from my little brother, the insomniac," Dean grumbled in fake irritation. Sam just sighed and sat down on the opposite bed, not really feeling up to the normal banter with his brother. Dean must have picked up on it because he set down the remote and stood up, taking his pants off so he was just in his boxers and t-shirt before he reached for the painkillers and swallowed two of them dry before pulling the blankets back on the bed and laying down. "Don't worry cupcake," he said, his voice already drifting. "Just need Rudolph to lull me to sleep."

Sam watched as in a matter of seconds, Dean was on his stomach, face turned towards Sam because he couldn't put it any other way without hurting, and fast asleep. He smiled and turned to look at the television, where a claymation movie about Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer was playing. Sam recognized the movie from when they were kids. They used to watch it on Christmas Eve, late at night when John though they were sleeping. It had been sort of a secret tradition between the brothers until Dean had grown out of it. Sam hadn't really understood why his brother had suddenly stopped wanting to watch it, but he guessed it had something to do with Rudolph and Santa being a harsh reminder of a life Dean couldn't have. It was a reminder that he wasn't like other kids. There were so many things that reminded them both of that while they were growing up. But it hurt to know that such an innocent tradition had caused so much pain in his brother.

Leaning back on his bed, Sam watched the movie for a while, feeling his mood drifting slowly to a melancholy mix between sadness and remembrance. His eyes were growing heavy. As tired as he was, he was still hesitant about falling asleep, knowing that he would undoubtedly dream of Jess, considering the amount of time he'd spent thinking of her throughout the day. He sighed and glanced over at Dean. His brother hadn't so much as stirred. Finally, sucking it up, Sam turned off the television and laid back. Sleep overcame him quickly.

Sam didn't know how long he slept. He awoke not to the feeling of being refreshed, but to stiffness and soreness in his limbs. He moaned slightly as he stretched and flexed his muscles, willing his body to loosen up after what felt like a million years of stillness. When his head cleared a bit more from the sleep, he turned to see if Dean was still asleep. Unsurprisingly, he was, and he hadn't moved except for the kicking off of the blankets. One of Dean's arms was hanging off the bed, the other reaching under his pillow, hand around the hilt of the knife he kept there no doubt.

Yawning, Sam sat up and looked at the clock. They'd been asleep for nearly seven hours. He was surprised. It had been a while since he'd slept that long, without being woken by a nightmare. His dreams hadn't been all that nightmarish, they'd actually being pleasantly tame. It was still dark out, around five in the morning. He wondered if he should wake Dean up to make sure he was all right, but he knew how much Dean hated being up before six. He looked again at his brother and watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. Even as he was watching him, Dean shifted on the bed with a groan before settling again. That gave Sam a bit of assurance that his brother wasn't brain dead, well, technically, Sam thought with a snort.

A half an hour later, Sam was showered and dressed and feeling a bit less stiff. He sat at the table, looking through articles about the Mothman, about Fort Sudak, about anything he could find that may help them. But he wasn't really having much luck. He knew they wouldn't have much luck until Ken came by with the list of people who had reported encounters with the Mothman.

As if on cue, someone knocked on the door. Sam got up quickly, hearing Dean stirring and not wanting to wake him up quite yet. He got to the door and opened it, fully expecting to find Ken on the other side. He was momentarily stunned to see that it was actually Kate. She smiled at him and held up a box of breakfast food and a tray of coffee. "I brought food," she whispered as she looked inside and saw Dean still asleep. Sam smiled and stepped aside, letting her in. She set the food down on the table and turned to look at Dean. "How is he?" she asked and Sam was surprised by the genuine concern there.

Sam shrugged, greedily helping himself to one of the coffees. "Tired, I guess," he said, sipping his drink. "He's not really a heavy sleeper."

Kate nodded, taking one of the coffees as well. "Anyone would be tired after all you guys have been through." They stood in silence for a moment before Kate finally turned to Sam looking sorry. "I had to leave Eric," she said apologetically. "It would have been weird if I spent the night there. But I told his mother what to look for. She's had an encounter with the Mothman as well, so she believed me. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Sam assured her. "I didn't think you'd have to stay with him so long."

Kate smiled appreciatively and sat down, her eyes drifting towards Dean again. Sam sat down as well and scrolled again through the articles. Kate maneuvered herself so she was looking at the screen. "So what are you going to do now?" she asked.

He wasn't really sure how to answer her, because truthfully he didn't know. "We'll just have to wait until Ken shows us the list. From there we'll try to figure something out. I've been thinking that maybe these clues have been leading us somewhere. Like we're not supposed to put them together, we're just supposed to follow them."

"That would make a lot more sense," Kate agreed. She eyed him for a moment before leaning forward across the table. Sam watched her tentatively. "Do you do this often?" she asked.

"What?" Sam whispered, though he was sure he knew what she was talking about.

"This," Kate waved her hand around the room. "All this weird stuff. You seem like you know what you're doing."

Snorting a bit, Sam leaned back, watching as Kate studied his face. He sighed and shook his head. "Half the time I don't know what I'm doing," he confessed. "Like right now. I don't know how we're going to stop this thing."

"But you've done stuff like this before?" Kate asked, interested now.

"Nothing nearly this big," Sam whispered. "We don't normally talk about what we do." Kate seemed to accept the answer and leaned back. "We've been doing stuff like this since I was a baby. My Dad and my brother…they're really driven. I got away once, but, after Jess died, I knew I couldn't escape it." Sam didn't know why he was confiding in Kate like this, but he felt like he hadn't been able to do so in a long time. Every once in a while he could get stuff out to Dean, but sometimes there were things that he wasn't even sure he could tell his brother.

Kate reached across the table and put a hand on his. He realized he must have been staring and he smiled at her. She nodded her head towards where Dean was still laying on the bed. "I know I haven't known you all that long, but it seems like you're really helping him." Sam smiled slightly and went to shake his head, to tell her that he ended up being saved more times than he did the saving, but Kate didn't let him get it out. "I saw the way he worries over you. He really cares for you. Do you think he could have done all this on his own?"

No. Plain and simple. Sam had never thought about it, but the answer had come swiftly. Sure, Dean had gone on hunts alone while Sam was off to college, but Sam couldn't imagine what it must have been like. They'd always been a team. They worked well together in figuring things out. How many times had Dean saved Sam's ass? How many times had Sam been there for Dean? When one fell, the other pulled them up. That's how it always was. He tried to picture his brother facing the Mothman by himself. What if Dean had crashed his car alone? He would have sat in that car and frozen to death. The thought made Sam shudder.

Sam didn't have time to answer though as a groan came from the bed. Both Kate and himself looked towards Dean, who was pushing himself up into a sitting position on the bed. He reached a hand up to rub his eyes and winced as he rubbed the bruised side a bit too hard. Finally, Dean pulled his hand away and realized that he was being watched. "What time is it?" he asked tiredly.

"Around five thirty," Sam said, watching as Dean groaned and rubbed his eyes again. Then he looked over at Kate and was immediately awake.

"You sure like seeing me with my clothes off," he said and swung his legs off the bed.

Kate scoffed while Sam merely smiled at her expense. She pointed a finger at Dean. "I am happily married, need I remind you," she growled, but then the playfulness returned to her eyes as she said, "Besides, my husband has a good three inches on you."

Sam couldn't help the laugh that came out at the look on his brother's face. Dean pushed himself up and glared at Kate as he made his way towards the bathroom, grabbing some clothes on the way. "I hope you're talking about height," Dean growled back.

"The world will never know," Kate chirped. Dean gave her another glare before he closed the bathroom door. The shower sounded moments later.

Sam and Kate continued to talk for a while, about anything and everything. They talked about her husband, about her kids, about her job. They talked about Jess, though Sam was a little reluctant to get too deep into it. They talked about Dean, which turned more into a laughing fit than a talk, much to Sam's amusement. By the time the shower stopped running, Sam was feeling a lot better. He liked talking with Kate. Even though she reminded him so much of Jess, she was fun and fresh. It was something Sam had been needing for a while.

The bathroom door opened and Sam turned to see Dean standing there, finally clothed. He was still toweling the water out of his hair and he had a razor out to shave with. The steam was nearly pouring out of the bathroom and Sam realized that Dean must have had the heat turned on full blast. He was probably starting to feel the soreness from the car accident. The aches always came days later.

"One of those coffees better be for me," Dean called as he was running his hands through his hair, trying to get it looking the way he liked.

Kate answered him. "Would you like cream and sugar, princess?"

Sam snorted and turned to look at his brother. It had been a while since Dean had met someone as resistant to his charm as Kate. Dean had his hands placed on the sink and was staring into the mirror at Kate. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could backtalk her, the bathroom door swung shut with such force that it rattled the frame. Sam and Kate both startled a bit. Sam was on his feet in an instant, heading for the door. He could hear Dean on the other side, jiggling the handle trying to get it open. Sam tried the same thing from his side of the door.

"The hell?" Dean yelled, frustrated. He gave the door a solid kick, but it didn't budge. He heard Sam on the other side telling him to step back, that he was going to try and kick it in. Dean nodded, not even noticing that his brother couldn't see it. He heard Sam kick at the door, but still it didn't move.

Dean was about to yell out some obscenity when he heard something move behind him. He froze, already in the back of his mind knowing what he was going to find. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he looked around quickly for a weapon before realizing he had none. Dammit. He took a breath and spun swiftly, swiping out with a fist.

He felt it before he saw it. Something slammed into his gut, sending him backward painfully into the door with a shattering force. The door didn't budge, though, much to Dean's disappointment and frustration as his body took the full impact. He grunted and heard Sam yell his name on the other side, but he ignored his brother for the moment, more worried about getting this fucker away from him.

Dean pounded his fists down onto whatever was holding him against the door and was shocked as it suddenly let him go and stood so quickly that Dean didn't even know it was moving until it had hold of both his wrists, rather painfully, and swung him around into the wall mirror. The mirror shattered all around him and whatever had a hold of him was pining him back against the bathroom counter. He was bent backwards over it, his legs pressed against the thing holding him and his back bent awkwardly so his head was up against the wall. He was pretty sure that spines weren't meant to bend like this.

Finally getting a look at what was attacking him, Dean drew in a breath. There was no doubt in his mind it was the same creature he'd been seeing for the past few days. It was the Mothman. It's brown body was hairy, yet slick. It was rough to the touch. It stood well above Dean's height and as it leaned over him, it's full body mass was pressing onto him heavily, pining him with a strength that was inhuman. It's hands, which were holding Dean's wrists tightly, were long fingered and bony. It's face was red and hideous. Eyes that glowed with a brighter red than the skin were staring at him with such a gaze that Dean felt his heart skip a few beats. The mouth was wide, spread almost across the entire head. But when it spoke, the mouth didn't open.

_Fight. Not you._ It said in a voice so deep, so ugly, so horrid that Dean shivered involuntarily as the words seemed to run over his skin, crawl into his bones. He gave a struggled whimper as he tried to get the creature off of him, realizing that the crushing weight was now cutting off his air. His whole body was shaking with the exertion of trying to keep his spine from breaking. Distantly, he heard Sam and Kate yelling something, but all he could see, all he could hear, all he could think about was the thing that had him pined. It repeated its earlier words. _Fight. Not you._

Sam was panicked. When he'd heard Dean slam up against the door, he'd thought maybe his brother was trying to break it down until he heard the pained grunt and the sound of a struggle. He yelled Dean's name, seeing Kate come up beside him, looking just as worried. When the sound of the mirror breaking filtered out, Sam had had enough. He told Kate to keep trying to open the door and had shuffled through the duffle bag, hurriedly until he found the gun. He'd loaded it and ran back to the door, ready to blow the lock off.

Before Sam could fire the gun, the door suddenly popped open. Sam shoved the gun at Kate, who didn't even question why he had it as Sam flung the door open and immediately spotted his brother slumping to the floor. He ran forward and caught him, but then continued to lower them both down. Dean's face was wild with fear. He was breathing heavily and his nose was bleeding again, more fiercely than before. But other than that and a few new bruises, there didn't seem to be anything horribly wrong with him.

"Dean?" Sam asked, watching as his brother seemed to calm and looked around the room slightly before his eyes landed on Sam. "What happened?" he asked patiently.

"I'm getting sick of this guy catching me in the bathroom," Dean said, though his face still looked fearful. Sam smiled slightly, but didn't let go of his brother. "Pretty soon I'm gonna be afraid to take a piss."

"Well," Sam said, aware that the light banter was his brother's way of washing away the fear and unease. "I'd offer to hold your hand but that would be kind of awkward."

Dean chuckled finally and looked at Sam. "That was a bit more up close and personal than I would have liked," Dean said, taking one final breath before he seemed to calm down back to normal.

"What happened?" Sam asked again. He saw Kate standing in the doorway, the gun held protectively to her chest. She was watching the whole thing in shock.

"Fucker knocked me around a bit," Dean said, trying to gain his feet. Sam kept a hand on his arm and helped him up. He found it odd that Dean didn't protest, but he could only guess that he was more than little freaked out about having yet another encounter with the Mothman. Hell, Sam was freaked out and he hadn't even seen the thing. "Then he pined me and said, 'Fight. Not you.' What the hell does that mean?" he asked angrily.

Sam shook his head. "I have no idea," he gave with an apologetic look. "But that's the third time you've seen him." Dean nodded, running a hand over his face. Sam didn't have to go on, he knew that Dean was picking up on what he was saying. Most people had one encounter with the Mothman. Dean had had three. Each one of them getting more intense. Sam didn't want to know what would happen if there was a fourth. He hoped he wouldn't have to find out.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Sorry about the bit of a wait. My Dad totaled the car and we've been dealing with that for the past few days. (He's fine by the way.) This chapter was a hard one to get out for some reason. But the good news is that I've plotted the rest of the story so the next chapters should be pretty easy and exciting.  Thanks to everyone who is still reading. I appreciate it. And thanks to all the reviewers who I haven't replied to! For some reason, it won't let me reply to everyone. And you anonymous people drive me nuts, but I still love you, lol. Happy New Years to everyone! 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

"Son of a bitch," Dean spat as Sam pulled a shard of the mirror that had shattered from Dean's shoulder. He winced sympathetically before pressing a bandage over the small, yet obviously painful stab wound. Kate handed him some medical tape and went about sealing up the gauze. By the time he was done, Dean had his head resting in his hands as he sat cross legged on the bed. Sam watched him for a moment, wondering not for the first time how his brother was still upright. Dean had been through hell the past couple of days and he half expected Dean to keel over any minute. But Dean was a stubborn one, he always had been and Sam scolded himself for thinking that this would be any different. After this was all over, he was going to demand they take a break, or at least just do the easy stuff.

Sam crawled off the bed and watched as his brother absently reached for the shirt that lay next to him. He pulled it on over his head, struggling a bit with his now aching right arm, but finally managed to get it on. Afterwards, he reached for the pain relievers again and dry swallowed three this time. Sam chewed on his lip to keep from scolding his brother about possible overdoses.

Dean turned himself around and leaned back on the bed, pausing to look at Sam. "I think maybe he likes me," he said with a lopsided grin. Sam frowned as Dean leaned against the head board, still wary of his shoulder. "No one can resist this face," he went on.

"You look like you were on the losing side of a boxing match," Kate sat, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table as Sam.

"Hey," Dean warned, pointing a finger at her. "Ladies have a sweet spot for the boxers. Florence Nightingale Syndrome or something."

"How do you know about Florence Nightingale Syndrome?" Sam asked, giving his brother a playful look, hoping to lighten the mood in the room a bit before they got back to business. Dean's encounter with the Mothman had shaken everyone up.

Dean shrugged, wincing as it jarred his shoulder. "You may have studied law, Professor," he said, nodding his head towards Sam with a grin. "But I studied, and perfected, the art of being a chick magnet. Trust me, get a little scratch every now and again and the girls will come swarming."

"You're a regular Casanova," Kate said sarcastically. Sam chuckled lightly, but still couldn't help the feeling of anxiety that was in the pit of his stomach. The Mothman had come after his brother three times. It seemed adamant about making Dean pay attention, but Sam didn't know what his brother was supposed to be paying attention to. It could be anything. And he wondered why it chose Dean. Hadn't Dean said that the creepies seemed more attracted to Sam? Why couldn't it be the same this time? Although he wasn't really a masochist, Sam would have preferred it was him who got hurt instead of Dean. That was more their style. Sam would get hurt and Dean would save the day, that's how things worked. The fact that the roles were reversed had Sam nervous and anxious.

A knock on the door brought Sam's attention back to the present. Kate got up and opened the door, letting Ken shuffle in, shaking the snow off his boots and shoulders. He grinned at them. "Morning folks," he greeted. He turned his attention to Dean and tipped his hat. "The Sheriff sends his apologies, but he hasn't had time to come up with that list you asked for, what with the scene yesterday and Bill's blow out this morning."

"Bill?" Kate asked, perking up a bit. "Bill Cummings?"

"The one and only," Ken said, for the first time since they'd met him sounding sarcastic and bitter.

"Do we know this Bill Cummings?" Dean asked, getting to his feet. He grabbed his coat that was on the end of the bed. Sam frowned, wondering where his brother thought he was going. He really didn't think Dean should go anywhere, still looked far too pale and Sam highly doubted that the seven hours of sleep had helped much. His brother needed at least seven more.

Ken shook his head. "No, and good thing," he said, pointing a cautious finger at Dean. "He's trouble."

"Why do you say that?" Sam asked, gaining his feet as well. He went to stand next to Dean, trying not to be conspicuous as he stood close enough so that if his brother passed out, he'd be ready to catch him. Dean didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he chose wisely to ignore it.

"He's a drunk," Kate said bluntly, but that's all the information she gave the brothers before turning her attention back to Ken. "What'd he do this time?"

Ken huffed and pulled out a can of Kodiak chewing tobacco. He began shaking it while he was talking. "Ah, Wyatt had to go pull Bill off of John Garner down at the farmer's market this morning. I heard him yelled about John killing his dog or something or other. John's never been up to that old coot's place, let alone near that damned dog of his."

"Something killed his dog?" Sam asked.

Ken nodded, placing a bit of tobacco in the side of his cheek before pocketing the canister again. "Looks like," he answered.

Sam and Dean shared a look for a moment before Dean nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. "Mothman never went after Fido before," he said, gaining both Ken and Kate's attention. "That's more Jersey Devil territory. But he hasn't been playing nice so far…"

"Where's Bill now?" Sam asked.

"Wyatt threw him in a cell for a few hours," Ken said. "Give him time to sober up and then he's gonna send him on home. If you ask me, they should just keep him there."

"Well," Dean said, shoving Sam's jacket at him. "Let's go pay the man a visit."

"We can take my car," Kate said, looking at Ken apologetically. "Your truck is kinda cramped."

"I ain't used to having passengers," Ken said with a grin.

The drive to the Sheriff's office was short. Dean and Ken had both fidgeted with the radio for a while before Kate had abruptly turned it off and commented that they were worse than her children. To accentuate the point, Dean leaned back in his seat and pouted. Sam smiled as Kate shook her head, annoyed.

When they walked inside the Sheriff's office, Sam noticed a woman and her daughter sitting on one of the benches inside the office. The woman looked upset, but the little girl was swinging her legs happily, probably unaware of what was making her mother so sad. Sheriff Wyatt Millard greeted them from behind the desk. "Just who I was looking for," he said cheerily. Sam frowned at the man. Wyatt turned to Dean. "Sorry about not coming through for ya," he said. Dean held up his hand and shook his head, telling the man it was no problem. 'But I might got something better," he whispered and leaned over the desk, putting a hand to his mouth as if he were telling some great secret. "I'm sure Ken told you about Bill Cummings. Well, I went to check out that dog of his and there's not a doubt in my mind it's the work of that Mothman of yours."

"How do you know?" Sam asked, watching the Sheriff as he leaned back and looped his thumbs through his belt.

"Cause no man can climb to the top of a spruce and string entrails around like Christmas lights, that's why," he said with confidence. Sam winced at the imagery. He turned to look at Dean, who looked just as disgusted, but also a bit intrigued. "You can quote me for that book of yours," he said, winking at Dean.

"We'll do that," Sam answered for his brother, seeing Dean ready to start joking around. They didn't have the time. "Can we talk to Bill?" he chanced, before his brother could say anything.

The Sheriff frowned and let out a slow breath. "I think you'd better wait," he said and turned his head to look at the two cells in the back of the room. Sam turned to look too and he caught sight of a man laying on one of the hard beds inside of the left cell. He had his head covered by a pillow and was curled into a fetal position. His clothes were dirty and his shirt was stained with a small amount of blood, probably from the scuffle that morning. "He gets violent when he's drunk," Wyatt nodded to one of the deputies who was heading back towards the cell. "We're gonna take him home. Maybe you could stop by his place tomorrow, he'll probably be sober then, but don't plan on getting anything out of him."

Their conversation was suddenly broken by harsh screaming as it filtered its way from the back of the room. Sam turned and saw that the man, who had been so placidly sleeping, was now kicking and screaming and biting at the shocked deputy who had been trying to rouse him to go home. Wyatt cussed beneath his breath and ran back there, two other deputies following suit. Sam saw Dean start to go back. He was ready to reach out and grab Dean's sleeve to get him to stay put, but Dean seemed to realize that he probably wouldn't be able to help much and he stopped, watching the scene unfold.

The deputy who'd initiated the screaming went down hard as Bill Cummings swung a fist at his head. The man jumped on top of the fallen deputy and went to bit him, but Sheriff Wyatt put a stop to that rather quickly. He grabbed Bill beneath the arms, hefting him up with little effort, winning easily over the man with his sheer weight and size. Bill fought viciously at first, but as Wyatt yelled at him to settle down, he seemed to listen and come around and realize where he was. After a few moments of stunned silence, Wyatt finally let go of Bill, who stumbled a bit and leaned up against the wall.

"Jesus!" Bill yelled out. "Jesus, Mary!" he screamed at the deputy on the floor, who was gingerly picking himself up, rubbing the side of his face where Bill had got a good lick in. "You cunt!" he screamed.

Wyatt shoved Bill against the wall harshly and pointed a finger at his face. "You shut up now, Bill," he growled with a ferocity that showed Sam why this man was Sheriff. "You attack one of my deputies again and I'm sending you straight to County."

"He attacked me!" Bill shouted, his words slurring from his still obvious drunkenness.

"Like hell!" the deputy spat back. Wyatt turned and gave him a glare to shut up.

"Someone take this idiot home," he said and the two remaining deputies each came to one side of Bill and took gentle, yet firm hold of his arms. "Don't you cause them no trouble, Bill," Wyatt warned. "You're lucky my boys are thick skinned or you'd find yourself with an assault charge."

"Justice you unfair pigs!" Bill spat at Wyatt's shoes.

Wyatt sighed and nodded towards his deputies as they began to lead Bill towards the door. Dean turned his head towards Sam and Sam leaned down a bit to hear what his brother had to say. "Maybe we could skip talking to this guy," he said softly.

Sam couldn't agree more. He nodded but didn't say anything as Bill Cummings was lead in their direction. Sam and Dean stepped to one side as Ken and Kate stepped to the other, leaving plenty of room for the deranged man and his escorts to get through. As he was walked pass them, Sam could hear him muttering off the wall curses beneath his breath.

As he walked pass the woman and her child who sat still on the bench, the mother obviously disapproving of the man's language, the man spat at the girl and her mother. The little girl gave a shrill, "Eww!" and swung her legs up onto the bench, snuggling close to her mother.

"Bill!" Wyatt warned from the back of the room. The deputies had him out the door in an instant.

The room seemed to take a collective breath before Sam turned his gaze on the little girl and her mother. The woman was soothing her daughter, who seemed to be upset over the event. She turned her eyes up towards her mother's face and Sam could practically hear what she was saying before she even opened her mouth.

"Is that a bad man?" the little girl asked.

Kate and Ken instantly turned around to look at the little girl, their eyes wide. Sam stared for a moment before he turned to see Dean's reaction. Dean didn't look shocked. In fact, he actually looked a bit upset and pouty. Sam knew what his brother was thinking. The third clue had just been said, but for some reason they all knew that it wasn't the little girl they were supposed to follow now, it was Bill Cummings.

"Well crap," Dean muttered.

Sam frowned at him before he turned to look at Wyatt. "You said his dog was gutted in the trees," he said and waited for Wyatt to nod. "Was it by his house?"

"Yeah, right in his backyard," Wyatt said, shaking his head. "Sickest thing I've ever seen."

Sam nodded and turned to look at Dean. He gave him a look, hoping he was conveying his thoughts right and Dean would pick up on what he was trying to do. "Well, thanks, Sheriff," he said, holding out a hand to shake Wyatt's. The Sheriff took it firmly. "We'll wait until tomorrow to go talk to Bill."

"Glad to be of service," the Sheriff said with a smile. Sam turned to walk out. Dean was giving him a bewildered look but Sam just grabbed the front of Dean's jacket and pulled him out after him. Kate and Ken followed closely.

When they were outside, Dean pushed Sam's hand off of him. "What are you doing?" Dean demanded.

"We're going to Bill's, right now, to look at that dog," Sam said, looking over at Ken and Kate. "You don't have to go if you don't want to, but we'll need to borrow someone's car."

"We'll go," Kate said after Ken nodded at her. Sam smiled at her, admiring the boldness of her personality. Then he turned back to Dean, who still seemed a bit confused. He cuffed him lightly on his good shoulder and then headed towards the car. He heard Dean grumble something beneath his breath, but he couldn't quite make it out.

Sam made Kate take the back roads to Bill's house, so they wouldn't pass by the deputies on their way back. It only took a few minutes to get there, but Sam had to admit Bill's house was the definition of backwoods property. The road that lead up to his house was barely traveled. The surrounding woods were so dark that Sam they'd be able to find their way around in them. When they finally reached Bill's house, Sam was a bit surprised to see it was such a nice looking log cabin. It was huge, actually, with a porch that wrapped completely around the house.

Dean gave out a low whistle. "Bill's got the bling," he said, grinning when Sam turned to glare at the statement.

They all got out and looked around tentatively, nervous that Bill might spot them and go off on them, or worse. "Someone should stay with the car," Sam said.

Ken rose his hand slightly. "I'll do it," he said and sat down on the hood of it. "Can't run as fast as you whippersnappers." Sam smiled warmly at him before he followed Dean and Kate towards the back of the house. They tried to be stealthy about it, but Dean was having trouble bending over and walking. By the time they made it to the back of the house, Dean was breathing hard and had started to sweat, Sam glanced at him worriedly but Dean just shoved him to show he was okay. It didn't squelch the worry, but it helped to ward it off a bit.

"There," Kate whispered and pointed to the trees. Sam and Dean both inched closer to her, looking at where she was pointing. Sam gave a small sound of disgust at the sight. Fur, blood, entrails, and meat was scattered up amongst the trees. It definitely was the work of an animal, but that didn't mean that it was the Mothman. It could have been a raptor of some sort, an eagle maybe, though they didn't normally go after dogs.

"Hey," Dean whispered and Sam turned to look at him. His brother held out a gun to him and Sam frowned, glancing towards Kate. She had spotted the weapon and her eyes went wide. She looked at Sam for explanation, but Dean was the one who gave it. "Don't worry," he said as he leaned against the house and sat down, suddenly too tired to squat anymore. Sam took the gun and moved closer to his brother, scolding himself for ever letting Dean come out for this. He should have stayed at the motel, resting. "He's not going to shoot the village boozer."

Kate leaned forward, her face suddenly angry. "So why are you carrying a gun?" she snapped at them, her voice harsh.

Sam tucked the gun into the back of his jeans and looked at her, wishing Dean hadn't brought it out in front of her. He put a hand on her shoulder but she brushed it off angrily. "Look," he said. "You never know what you're going up against out there. The Mothman seems to be getting more violent and I wouldn't hold it above him to kill someone to get people's attention." Kate seemed to sober up at that, though she still looked skeptical. "Besides," he nodded towards the trees where the remains of the dog swayed with the wind. "We don't know the Mothman did that. It could have been something else, something much worse."

"Like what?" Kate admonished, still skeptical.

Dean spoke up then, perking up a bit. "Werewolf, Nymph, Wendigo, to name a few." Kate just stared at him blankly.

"We don't have time for this," Sam said, looking at Kate. "Just trust us, we know what we're doing." He ignored Dean's soft snort at that. "Now, we have to go over there and look for any signs that this was a different animal. We don't want to be following red herrings here. You can wait in the car if you want," he said to Kate.

Kate seemed to contemplate it for a moment before she shook her head and turned back to look at the trees. "Let's go," she muttered and started out across the lawn to the trees.

Sam turned to Dean, who was smiling. "Nice ass," Dean said, watching Kate go. Sam rolled his eyes and reached out to grab Dean's arm and help him up again. He frowned when Dean didn't say anything. Dean headed out after Kate and Sam went to follow.

Something sounded right behind Sam. He saw Dean turn quickly and his eyes widen ever so slightly before Sam realized he was in trouble. He didn't have time to react as a hand snaked its way around his neck. Almost on instinct he started to move to flip whoever was attacking him, but the feel of a cold metal barrel of a gun pressed against his head stopped whatever defense moves he had in mind.

Sam watched as Dean drew his own gun out of his jeans and held it up. "Let him go!" he demanded, his voice surprisingly strong. Kate had stopped and was staring in shock.

"I was waiting for you," a sickly voice near Sam's ear whispered. Sam felt his stomach drop as he recognized the voice.

It belonged to Bill Cummings.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Sam stared deep into his brother's dark eyes, trying to find some sort of command there that would tell him what to do. He was trying desperately to figure out what plan his brother had in mind so they could both get out of this situation without the nuisance of a bullet to the head. He knew Dean would tell him what to do when the time was right. Dean was always in control, always. All Dean would have to do was give Sam a sign to fight and he'd fight. But right now, as Bill Cummings' gun was pressed against Sam's head, Dean's bloodshot eyes weren't looking at his brother, they weren't giving him some secret instructions, they weren't assuring him that everything would be all right, they were looking straight at the madman who was now threatening his little brother. Dean's eyes seemed foreign to Sam. Darker than normal.

"I said let him go," Dean growled, teeth clenched, his voice so sinister it almost scared Sam. He'd heard his brother's voice when he was angry before, many times, but this was a step above anger. It was something different, something Sam only saw rarely, and only when it was his life that was on the line. As gruesome as the description sounded, Sam could only classify Dean's current emotional state as a deep, horrific bloodlust.

It was strange the way Dean worked, Sam realized. Only moments before, he'd been slumped on the ground, panting and sweating and almost unable to go on. But now, with the immediate danger being on Sam's life, all of Dean's injuries were forgotten, his glossy eyes had cleared, his posture had straightened and his hands were perfectly still, in control. But Sam knew, that underneath the strong, fierce façade his brother was displaying, Dean was on the verge of collapse, both physically and emotionally. No man, no matter how strong they claimed to be, could handle all of this stress and sooner or later, it was going to catch up to Dean in the worse possible way. Sam only hoped he'd be around to catch his brother.

As Bill Cummings shook with rage, Sam winced and couldn't help the small gasp that escaped his throat as the gun was pushed tighter against his head. Sam could smell the alcohol on Bill's breath. He reeked of whiskey, cigars and sweat. It was a foul smell that Sam would not soon forget. The arm that was wrapped around Sam's neck was trembling slightly and Sam didn't even want to imagine how much Bill's trigger finger was doing the same.

"I knew you'd come!" Bill shouted and Sam felt spittle sprinkle his ear and cheek. He grimaced but didn't say anything more. I've been waiting for this day for months," Bill's words were slurred, but surprisingly strong. Sam wondered if the man was hallucinating or just seriously confused. He wasn't sure which one he preferred more.

Dean titled his head slightly, his jaw jutted out in an attempt to contain the utter rage he felt inside of him. When he spoke again, his voice was collected, but the emotion was raw. "We're not here to hurt you," he said. "But, so help me, if you don't let go of him I won't hesitate to put a fucking bullet in your head." The threat was severe and Sam was sure that on a good day, Dean would have done just that. But today, he hoped his brother was bluffing. Half because he didn't want to see anyone get killed over this misunderstanding and half because he wasn't sure his brother's aim was as good as it usually was.

"You pigs are all the same!" Bill spat, giving Sam a shake, to which Sam grimaced but this time out of anger. He didn't like being manhandled.

"Bill," Kate's voice stuck out amongst the deep threats from both sides. She sounded scared, not threatening in the least. Hopefully that would get through to the drunk man. "These guys aren't cops," she tried to persuade him. "They're here to help us."

"Bullshit!" Bill screamed and then gave a frustrated yell that left Sam's ear ringing. Sam looked at Dean, begging him to hurry up and think of something. Sam's nerves were slowly being frayed away. Dean glanced at him sparingly before looking back at Bill. "He deserved to die!" Bill shouted and for a moment, Sam thought that maybe the man was talking about him. But that thought went out quickly when Bill spoke again. "He killed my wife."

Kate held up her hands and took a few steps closer, but Bill tensed and jerked Sam and she stopped. "Bill, you wife died in a car accident," she said, trying to remind the man. "Last winter," she added, hoping that if the man was really deranged, he'd at least remember how his wife died.

"No!" Bill screamed. "She would have made it. She would have lived through it if it weren't for him."

Sam took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm himself and steady his voice before he spoke. "For who, Bill?"

The man seemed genuinely surprised that his hostage was speaking and he held Sam tighter for a moment, bringing his head around to look at the side of Sam's face. Sam glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, trying to show the man that he was really interested, that he wouldn't hold a grudge if he just let him go. But Bill seemed beyond reason now. His eyes were wide, wild, and slightly panicked.

"That damn rookie medic!" Bill screamed and shook Sam harshly again. Sam grunted as Bill pulled his arm tighter around his neck. He was coming close to cutting off his air. Sam wondered what everyone's fascination with choking him was. It seemed to happen a lot to him. "He should have known! He should have known!" And now Bill was sobbing, his whole body shaking. Sam gave Dean a desperate look, knowing that any second Bill's finger could slip and Sam's life would end abruptly.

Dean caught Sam's eye for a moment and held his gaze. Sam tried to read his brother's face, but he couldn't tell what Dean was thinking. Finally, Dean looked away and Sam gladly let his brother take control of the situation. "Bill," Dean said, voice calm. "I would have killed him too." Dean took a step forward when Bill suddenly stopped crying and stared hard at Dean. When the man didn't say anything about him getting closer, he continued to step forward, slowly lowering the gun and holding his hand up to show he wasn't going to hurt him. "You did the right thing. You did what any man would do. The bastard deserved it, didn't he? You were only dealing out justice."

"Yes," Bill sobbed, nodding his head vigorously in agreement. "Yes, I did what those pig bastards wouldn't. I took down a murderer. Single handedly because they wouldn't even admit that he did anything wrong. Well he did!" Bill screamed and Dean stopped, his gun pointed down and one hand still up to the side. "They should have known. They should have known about her condition, but they didn't and they killed her because of it."

Dean looked contemplative for a moment before he took another step. Bill tensed, so Dean slowed but kept coming. Sam prayed his brother knew what he was doing. "They gave her the wrong treatment, didn't they?" Dean asked, his voice low.

Bill sucked in a breath. "She was allergic," he whispered quietly. Sam, as scared as he was at the moment, couldn't help but start to put the pieces of the story together. Bill Cummings' wife was in a car accident. She must have been hurt, but not instantly killed. But a rookie paramedic, combined with an unknown allergy, must have proven fatal when he gave her something that she was allergic to. It happened sometimes, there was no way paramedics could know about a person's allergies or sicknesses unless someone told them. That's why whatever treatment they gave at scenes of accidents were always basic, essential for life. But every so often, they came across the people that were allergic to even the most basic of treatments. Of course Bill would blame the paramedics, especially if it was a rookie. But he must have let it get to him and he must have gone out and killed the rookie medic who made the slip up.

"So you killed him," Dean observed, thinking along the same line as Sam.

Bill was quiet for a moment before he started whimpering and let out a sob. Sam felt his heart race up more than it had already been. He couldn't help the tears that were slowly coming to his eyes. He felt stupid, but dammit he was scared. After every evil thing they'd gone up against, it would just be the perfectly cruel end to die at the hands of a drunk. It would be the perfect way for life to spit him in the face and remind him how much he hated it sometimes.

"I…" Bill started but broke off with a sob. He jerked Sam again and this time Sam emitted a small whimper and closed his eyes, a wave of panic racing through his body. God, get that fucking gun away from his head. "I had to," Bill whispered softly.

"Of course you did," Dean nodded his head. He was almost close enough for Sam to reach out and grab hold of his hand. "But you don't have to kill my brother," he said quietly. "We understand what you did. We're on your side. We can help."

Bill looked cautiously at Dean for a moment, his lips quivering and small whimpering noises escaping his throat. For a split second, Sam thought that maybe he would let him go. Maybe he would believe Dean and everything would be okay. They'd all walk away from this and Sam could go and get fussed over by Dean and Kate and Bill could go inside and sleep off his drunkenness and in the morning they'd forgive him and everything would be okay. But that split second didn't last long.

"Bill, what the hell?" Ken's voice boomed from behind them. Sam saw Dean's eyes dart towards Ken frantically. Bill let out a startled yell and began to turn, pulling Sam with him. The next few seconds happened so fast that Sam wasn't sure what was going on until it was over. He hadn't been expecting the turn and his feet caught on one another, he started to fall. Dean rushed forward and grabbed Bill's arm, the one holding the gun. He gave it a hard yank and Sam was let go to fall to the ground. He didn't see what happened next, but he heard the sound of a scuffle, then someone grunted and a body hit the ground. Moments later, a gunshot went off and another body fell to the ground.

Panic nearly paralyzed Sam as his mind caught up with the events. He whipped his head around, praying that he wouldn't find Dean's face blown away by a short ranged gunshot wound. He gave a small sigh of relief as he saw Dean was sitting up slowly, a trickle of blood coming from his lip, which was now split and starting to swell. But there was no gunshot wound. He noticed Dean's wide eyes starring at something and he followed his gaze to where Bill now lay. Sam sucked in a gasp. Bill's gun lay limply in his hand, which was sprawled out next to him. His eyes stared lifelessly towards the sky and a bullet wound entered one side of his head smoothly and exploded in an array of flesh and bone and brain matter on the other. Sam turned his head away, his stomach churning involuntarily.

Sam flinched as a pair of arms suddenly wrapped themselves around him and pulled him into a tight bear hug. Sam turned his head as Dean let go of him and grabbed his face instead, making Sam look directly at him. Sam let his brother have a moment to inspect him, making sure that there were indeed no bullet wounds in Sam's head before Sam smiled and said breathily, "I'm alright."

"Fucking Christ," Dean hissed and Sam let out a slight disgruntled laugh as Dean pulled him into a hug again. Sam sat still for a moment, taking comfort in his brother's immense worry, but also letting his brother get over whatever intense emotions had been rolling beneath that tough guy attitude of his. Finally, Sam pulled away and looked at Dean's newly split lip.

"You okay?" he asked, raising a hand slightly to point at the trickle of blood down Dean's chin.

"I'm not the one who had a fucking gun pointed at my head, you idiot," Dean's voice was angry, but Sam knew it wasn't aimed at him. Dean took a deep breath and looked back over at Bill. "Dammit," he hissed and got to his feet, pulling Sam up involuntarily when he forgot to let go of his sleeve. They stood quietly for a moment, looking down at Bill's body. The blood was staining the snow and Sam felt suddenly sick again.

Ken and Kate had made their way over to them, both staring in shock at the body. Kate found her voice first. "We should call an ambulance." She was quiet, unsure.

Dean snorted and squatted back down, looking at Bill's dead eyes. "I hate to tell you this," he said sarcastically. "But I don't think he's going to make it."

Kate turned to glare at him, rage suddenly evident on her face. "How can you joke?" she practically screamed. Dean turned his head and looked up at her. "Bill just shot himself right in front of you and you just sit there and joke?"

"Well I ain't gonna cry," Dean said, obviously irritated.

Kate looked astonished. "This was someone's life!" she screamed, her whole body shaking with anger at him.

Dean gained his feet quickly, the rage back in his eyes as he stood close to her and practically screamed in her face, "Yeah and it was almost my brother's! So don't you stand there and tell me I should feel sorry for that son of a bitch!"

Sam stepped forward and put a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder, pulling him back away from Kate, who looked shocked and a bit frightened by Dean's emotional outburst. Dean let Sam lead him backwards but his eyes were still locked with Kate's until she looked away. Sam stepped between the two, blocking his brother's vision of her. "Dean," he said and his brother's eyes flickered to him, the rage that was swelling there slowly easing away. "Take it easy," he tried to soothe.

"Take it easy?" his brother repeated, sounding shocked that Sam could even say such a thing. "Sammy, that dude almost killed you and you're telling me to take it easy? Jesus what's wrong with you?" he snapped and Sam reminded himself not to take it personally, Dean was upset. "I'm sorry, but you should be a little more freaked out than you are right now."

"I am," Sam said quickly and that got Dean's attention. Sam gave him a gently smile. "We all are, okay?" Dean's eyes darted between Ken, who had taken off his hat and was giving a silent prayer, and Kate who looked to be on the verge of tears. The sight seemed to force Dean to calm down a bit from the adrenaline rush that he was no doubt experiencing. Sam gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and at the same time told himself to calm down as well. Though he wanted to appear calm and collected on the outside, Sam was just as shaken, heart still racing.

"We should call the Sheriff," Kate said, biting her lip to keep from crying. Sam turned to look at her and nodded.

"Oh he's going to love us," Dean said, finally reaching up to wipe the blood off his chin. He touched the tips of his fingers to his smarting lip and gave a disgusted look at having yet another wound to add to the growing list. But then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He handed it to Sam before he sighed and started heading back towards the car. "I need to sit down," he announced with a wave of his hand. Sam spared a moment to worry before he dialed the Sheriff's number.

Twenty minutes later, Bill Cummings' house was swarming with police and EMTs. Dean sat on the hood of Kate's car with Sam leaning next to him. They watched at a distance as Kate gave her statement to the Sheriff. Ken was talking to another deputy, though they seemed to be beyond the statement and were now charring idly about the dearly departed Bill.

Dean gave a sigh and Sam looked over at him. "You okay?" he asked, speaking to him for the first time since they'd called the police.

"I'm ready for this to be over with," Dean answered honestly. Sam smiled and nodded his agreement. He didn't want to tell Dean that he wanted the exact same thing. The fact that Dean had actually said anything had sparked up Sam's doubt again. It was draining them both. "Maybe we should call Dad," Dean said quietly. Sam looked back over at him and saw that Dean's face had grown solemn. His brother was wearing down.

"Do you think he'd answer?" Sam asked, not able to help the bitterness that had slipped into his voice.

"No," Dean gave after a moment's thought. He sighed again and put a hand to his head, closing his eyes in frustration. "God, Sammy, I promised you we'd find him and look where I've gotten us."

"Nearly killed, desperate for answers, physically and emotionally drained?" Sam answered, though there was a hint of humor in his voice.

Dean looked up at him and gave a playful glare. "Rub it in why don't you," he said, though a smile broke out on his face.

Sam smiled back and then turned to look at the Sheriff who was headed their way. "We'll find him," he said.

"Since when did you become the older brother?" Dean asked. But Sam didn't answer as the Sheriff stepped up to them, opening his small notebook and looking at the both of them.

"Well, I think I got the story straight from Kate and Ken," he said, eyeing them both. "You boys sure know how to attract trouble, don't you?" It wasn't exactly the question Sam had been expecting. He figured the Sheriff would be pissed with them for coming over to Bill's after he told them not to. But the Sheriff didn't look that mad, more tired than anything.

Sam licked his lips. "Look, Sheriff, we're really sorry…" he began but the Sheriff held up his hand, stopping him mid sentence.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It's my fault really." That surprised both Sam and Dean, who perked up a bit, ready to hear what Sheriff Wyatt had to say. "A guy like Bill Cummings shouldn't be anywhere but a jail cell. I can't say I didn't see something like this coming. He's been depressed ever since Lonnie died. He started drinking and, well, things just got out of control after that."

"He was talking about that," Sam said, interested now. "He said that his wife didn't die in the car accident, but that she died because of a paramedic's mistake."

Wyatt snorted and shook his head, folding his notebook and tucking it away. "That's what he always thought. We all tried to tell him that Lonnie wouldn't have made it, with or without the treatment. Her brain was bleeding and she was seizing. She would have died either way. If anything, the medic made it painless for her."

"He said that he killed the medic," Dean said bluntly. Sam turned to give him a soft reprimanding glare, but Dean didn't seem to notice, or care.

The Sheriff ran a hand across his face. "I always knew he did it. But we just couldn't prove it. God, that guy was just a pup. Real sharp looking and he had a good future ahead of him. What a shame."

Sam frowned, an idea coming to mind. He almost dismissed it as being too outlandish, but he reminded himself of what they were dealing with and all of the odd circumstances they'd already come up against so far. So he decided to chance it. "Sheriff, what was the medic's name?"

The Sheriff opened his mouth to say it but he paused and frowned, scratching his head for a moment. He turned to one of his deputies who was talking to Ken. "Hey, Jensen, what was the name of that medic that died last winter?"

"The head wound victim?" the deputy called back.

"Yeah, that real young fella," the Sheriff nodded. And as soon as the name was out of the deputy's mouth, Sam and Dean both tensed, wondering what the hell they were supposed to do with this new bit of information.

"Kingly. Scotty Kingly."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

They were driving to Scott Kingly's gravesite. Sheriff Wyatt had offered to drive Ken home, since the man seemed to be upset over what he had just witnessed. Sam couldn't blame him, really. Even though Ken had bad mouthed Bill Cummings, Sam had no doubt that the two had grown up together. It was a small town, people knew each other here, better than most people knew their friends. And Bill Cummings hadn't always been a drunk. A year ago, before his wife died, he'd been just like everyone else, not really a threat. Sam wasn't sure what he felt about the whole situation. He guessed he was still in a slight state of shock over it all.

They stopped at the motel and the gas station briefly to pick up some supplies. The car ride to the cemetery had been silent. Kate sat rigid in her seat, staring out at the road ahead of them, concentrating on driving and nothing else. Sam guessed she was trying to take her mind off what happened. Sam himself was still reeling over the whole situation. The only person who seemed to be completely over the shooting was Dean, who lay stretched out in the backseat, his head propped on the armrest attached to the door. He was dozing off and Sam wished that he could do the same. Dean had the remarkable ability to flip out about a situation one minute and then the next seemingly forget it ever happened. It was Dean's way of dealing with the horrors of what they did. He'd told Sam once that he couldn't let everything that happened on a hunt get to him. Dean apparently listened to his own advice. Sam wished he could do the same, though he was sure that Dean wouldn't completely forget it anytime soon, and he'd probably keep an extra eye on Sam for a couple of weeks.

Sam sat shotgun, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He was leaning against the door, his head against the window, watching the scenery pass by. He was trying to sort everything out in his mind. Scott Kingly was dead. He had been for a year. But not even two days ago, the man had helped Sam get his brother to a hospital. He'd sat with Sam while he waited to see if his brother would live or die. Sam had sat in the backseat of the man's fucking car, trying to keep his brother awake so he wouldn't sustain brain damage. It didn't make sense. It didn't make one bit of fucking sense. The man had been so real. How was it even possible? How was any of this even possible?

The Mothman was messing with them. Sam concluded that had to be the answer. Somehow, Scott was connected to the Mothman. Maybe he was a manifestation. Or maybe the Mothman brought him back, but for what? Was the Mothman even capable of bringing people back from the dead? He'd brought back Jess, even if it was only her voice on a phone call. Damn, his head was starting to hurt with all the unanswered questions.

One thing Sam knew for sure was that they were following the Mothman's trail like a royal pair of goddamn basset hounds. He was more certain than ever that the clues they had been following weren't anything more than a push in the direction the Mothman wanted them to go. He was leading them somewhere. To where, Sam didn't have a clue and he was beyond pissed off that it was taking so long. He thought, irritated, that if their father would pick up the phone for once, they'd be able to finish this a lot quicker and risk a lot less lives. But John Winchester never answered his phone, not anymore. Not after the countless pleading messages Dean left for him, not after Sam would call just to hear his father's voice for reassurance, and not even when Dean had called, begging their father to come to Lawrence and help. Sam had been surprised when his brother had admitted that he'd called their father. He knew that Dean tried to get through to him every once in a while, but to actually call and say the needed help, it just made Sam all the more angry at John. Dean didn't ask for help often, so whenever he did, it meant that he damn well fucking needed it. And their Dad hadn't even bothered to show up.

"What are you going to do?" Kate's voice broke into Sam's silent stewing. He rolled his head slightly on the window to glance at her. She still looked shell shocked. Sam couldn't blame her.

"We have to burn his bones," Sam said quietly, trying to force the anger out of his system. It wouldn't do them any good if he sat here all broody while they were supposed to be paying attention for any further signs about where to go. There was still one more clue left, and Sam wasn't sure what they'd find once all the clues were gone. He was anxious and nervous to find out.

Kate glanced over at him for a moment before her eyes went back to the road, dazed. "What? Why?"

Sam sighed. The poor girl was going to love this one. "Because two days ago Scott Kingly drove us to the hospital."

"What?" Kate spat, turning to look at him again. When Sam didn't say anything more, Kate let out a harsh laugh and looked away. "So, what, he's a ghost?"

"Or a phantasm, or a familiar," Sam thought out loud. "Either way, if we burn his bones it should dispel him."

"Do you think he's behind all of this?" Kate asked. "Do you think he's the Mothman?"

Sam thought for just a moment before sitting up in his seat and shaking his head. "No," he said honestly. "But I think he might be connected somehow. I just don't know how."

Kate shook her head as she turned the car onto a gravel road, heading towards the cemetery. "This is getting a little weird for me," she said, her voice quavering slightly. "What about the clues? You only have one left, right?"

"Yeah," Sam said and frowned. "'Do you see the birds?'" Sam recited the sentence as though it were a practiced line. It practically was, he'd repeated it so much inside his head that the words sounded strange when they were actually said out loud.

"What do you think that means?" she asked, turning onto another little side road and slowing down as they reached the cemetery. "Is someone supposed to say it, like the others?"

"I don't know," Sam shrugged and waited patiently as Kate parked the car.

She turned off the engine and turned to look in the backseat at Dean, who was fast asleep. "Should we wake him?" she asked, turning to look at Sam.

For a moment Sam thought about saying no and letting his brother get the sleep he so desperately needed. But his sensible side kicked in and he knew that if they were to let Dean sleep in the car and he woke up alone in a strange place, he'd probably freak out, especially if Sam wasn't in plain sight. "Yeah," he answered and maneuvered his torso between the two front seats. He reached a hand out and placed it gently on Dean's arm, fully aware that if his brother was spooked, even injured, Dean could very well snap his wrist. "Dean," Sam said softly. When there was no response, Sam gave his brother a slight shake. "Dean," he said louder.

This time, Dean's eyes opened slowly. They darted around the car before falling on Sam, who gave his brother a soft smile. Dean closed his eyes again, the tension that had seized his body ebbing away slowly, and reached a hand up to rub his face. He gave a slight groan as he pushed himself into a sitting position, still holding his head. After Dean had woken fully, he looked over at Sam again and gave his normal, cocky grin. "I love waking up to your ugly mug, buttercup," he reached out and gave Sam a playful shove. Sam reached and shoved him back, making Dean laugh and punch Sam in the arm, though not hard.

"Ass," Sam spat and ducked out of the car, shutting out whatever vulgarity his brother shot back in response. He looked over to Kate, who was waiting by the fence separating the parking lot from the graves. As Dean got out of the car, they walked over to her. "Where'd they say his grave was?" Sam asked her.

Kate scanned the area for a moment before she pointed towards a woodsy patch to their right. "Over there," she said and started walking towards it, but paused as a thought suddenly struck her. "Are you going to dig him up in broad daylight?"

Sam bit his lip and looked over at Dean, who just shrugged and said, "We were thinking about it." Kate didn't say anything more as Dean walked to the trunk and pulled out a shovel, the gasoline they'd stopped to pick up, and a handgun for himself. He shoved it into the back of his pants and closed the trunk.

"Why do you have to do this anyway?" Kate demanded.

"Because Caspar doesn't belong here," Dean answered, taking the shovel from Sam and slinging it over his shoulder.

"But he saved your life," Kate said.

Sam looked at Dean to see how his brother would react. Dean stared at Kate for a moment, eyeing her with irritation in his eyes. His jaw was tensed and Sam could see that Kate's words had struck Dean hard. He could tell that it was something Dean had thought about as well. Scott Kingly, or at least the ghost of him, had in fact saved both of their lives. There was no telling how long they would have had to wait out in the cold before another car came along to help them after the crash. But that didn't change the fact that he was a ghost. And John Winchester had ground it into their heads that a ghost was a ghost and no matter what they had to be dispelled.

"Well then we'll end his suffering," Dean said lowly. "It's bedtime for little Scottie." And that was the end of that as Dean shoved past Kate, rather harshly. Kate gave a loud scoff which Dean promptly ignored. He headed towards the gravesite. Kate turned to look at Sam, pleading with her eyes to get him to stop his brother.

"He needs to be put to rest," Sam said softly. Kate looked betrayed for a moment before she turned away from Sam and marched angrily after Dean. Sam sighed and followed.

They found Scott's grave beneath some birch trees. Sam set down the gasoline can and Dean held the shovel out to him. When Sam hesitated, Dean just grinned. "You owe me for Cairnes."

"You're never going to let it go, are you?" Sam asked, slightly amused but also irritated that the labor had been passed on to him. He should have expected it. Even if Dean had started digging, Sam would have made him stop anyway. Dean didn't need anymore physical work.

"Hell no," Dean said with a bob of his head as he sat down on a tombstone opposite Scott's. He ignored the glares that both Sam and Kate gave him. "I dig for hours, working my ass off, while you hook up with that Sorenson chick."

As Sam plunged the shovel into the ground, he turned and glared at his brother. "I didn't hook up with her," he defended softly.

"Yeah whatever, playboy," Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest, but not before pointing at the ground and saying, "Keep digging."

"Do you always take his shit like this?" Kate asked, coming over to stand by Sam.

He glanced up at her, but as Dean gave a quick, "Hey," he turned to look at his brother with a smile. Dean was pointed a finger warningly at her. "I'm the best brother he's ever had."

"Not like I had much to choose from," Sam teased. He dug the shovel in again and waited for Dean to respond. When he didn't, Sam turned and looked at him, worried that he'd hurt his feelings. But Dean wasn't even paying attention. He sat still on the headstone, arms crossed over his chest as they had been before, but his head was turned away from them and he was squinting at something. Sam whipped his head to see what had caught his brother's attention, hoping that it wasn't the Sheriff or someone coming to ask them what they were doing. When he didn't see anything, he looked back at his brother. "Dean?" he called, worried.

"Sammy," Dean said, not turning his head to look at them. Sam dropped the shovel, walking over to him. Dean lifted a hand and pointed to something. "Look." Sam stood next to him and followed his finger. His eyes glanced over gravestones and shrubs and flowers, but he didn't see anything out of the ordinary. He turned to look at his brother and Dean glanced at him before nodding his head towards the direction he was pointing. "Do you see the birds?" he stressed out, obviously reciting the final clue. Sam frowned and looked again.

Finally, he saw what Dean was pointing at. About forty feet away from where they stood was a tombstone that stood higher than the rest. It was oddly shaped, sticking out from all the other tombstones near it. It was stark white, with signs of weather aging. It stood about four feet in the air and branched out at the top only to come back together again in a spiral pattern. Someone had obviously spent a lot of money on it. But Sam ignored all of that as his eyes fell on the two porcelain white doves that had been carved out with extreme care and intricacy. The doves seemed to stick out, almost glow, their wings spread and facing the sky.

"Dean," Sam shook his head, fighting back the temptation to believe that this was the answer to their last clue. They couldn't jump to conclusions. They'd made it so far and if they made a mistake now, if they followed some red herring now, they could lose whatever chance they had at stopping whatever horrible tragedy the Mothman was trying to help them stop. He tried to ignore the small voice in the back of his mind that was urging him to believe that this was what they were looking for. "I don't know."

As soon as the words were out of Sam's mouth, a high pitched scream filled the air, the same high pitched scream that had sounded the night of the car accident. Not a second later, the tombstone Dean was sitting on suddenly cracked, sending Dean falling backwards, landing with a grunt on his shoulders as he rolled and lay flat on his stomach, wincing at not only the fall but at the screaming that was still echoing in the air. Sam covered his ears with his hands but stepped around the broken tombstone and stooped low to the ground over Dean, who was also covering his ears, grimacing when it seemed to do nothing to stop the sound from nearly shattering his ear drums.

But as quickly as it started, the screaming abruptly stopped and the three of them were frozen for a moment. Sam looked down at Dean, who looked up at him with a slow exhale of breath. Kate walked over to them. "What was that?" she asked, spooked.

"What do you think?" Dean grumbled as he pushed himself up into a kneeling position. He paused a moment to catch his breath, giving Sam a look that said he was sick of getting knocked around. Sam returned the look and stood up, watching as Dean got to his feet and brushed himself off. "He's telling us to play closer fucking attention."

"I never heard it scream like that before," Kate said softly. Sam turned to look at her and saw that she was hugging herself, staring at some invisible object in the distance. He walked over to her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Hey," he said gently. "It's all right."

"Like hell," Dean spat and Sam turned to glare at him, but his brother was already walking towards the oddly shaped tombstone with the birds. Sam turned back to Kate and saw that she had managed to pull herself together a bit. She smiled at him even.

Sam and Kate caught up with Dean at the tombstone and all three stood and stared at it for a while. There were two names engraved there. One, a woman's name, "Mary Newman," had both a date of birth and death beneath it. The other, the man's name, "Vincent Newman," had the date of birth, but not the date of death.

"He's still alive," Sam whispered as he squatted down in front of the tombstone and ran his fingers over the name. He turned to look up at Kate. "Do you know him?" he asked.

Kate looked at him, "Who? Vince?" she asked and when Sam just stared at her, she went on. "Yeah, he lives down the street from me. His son teaches at my daughter's school." Sam stood and looked at Dean to see if his brother was thinking the same thing he was. Apparently he was. "Why?" Kate asked, looking between the two of them.

"We need to pay him a visit," Dean told her and then headed towards the car.

"What about Scott Kingly?" Kate asked, falling into step with the two brothers.

Dean held up his hands. "We'll deal with him later."

The drive into town went quick and before they knew it, Kate was pulling into Vincent Newman's driveway. Sam and Dean got out of the car but Dean pointed a finger at Kate. "You wait here," he said commandingly. Sam looked at Dean from the other side of the car, wondering what he was doing. Leave Kate by herself? Oh yeah, that wasn't asking for trouble.

"Why?" Kate demanded, opening her door. Dean shoved it shut again, much to Kate, and Sam's, astonishment. He pointed at her through the window.

"Because we got our last fucking clue and if something's going to happen, it'll happen here," Dean said reverently. Sam startled a bit at the words. He hadn't even thought of that. Yeah, he knew it was the last clue, but did that really mean that the horrible tragedy was going to happen at this house? In the middle of a subdivision? It didn't seem right, but Sam couldn't push it aside. He had to be open to the possibility that Dean was right. He had to be alert.

"You can't go in there by yourself!" Kate yelled through the door. "Look what happened last time. Sam was almost killed!"

Dean looked over at Sam and they shared a gaze for a moment before Dean shook his head at Kate through the window. "Well then we got that out of the way," he said. "Stay here," he reiterated and Kate glared at him with both anger and fear for their lives.

Sam and Dean walked up to the front door. Dean withdrew the gun from the back of his jeans and tucked it into a more accessible place near his belt buckle. Sam waited until he was situated before he raised a hand, but he left it hovering over the door. "Are we sure about this?" he asked. "I mean, this isn't really out area of expertise. Maybe we should call the Sheriff."

"You're such a girl," Dean snapped and knocked on the door himself with a fist. He leaned towards Sam and added, "Try not to get shot."

Sam silently hoped he could comply.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

It was one of those plans that was destined to end horribly from the moment it was conceived. Sam wasn't sure why he had agreed to go along with it. He didn't know why, yet again, his brother had convinced him to do something so obviously stupid. It was probably because Dean was a bullshitter, a very good, experienced bullshitter who could make the most fool hardy plans seem like works of art. Sure, sometimes Dean was a little slow on the uptake of information, but once he got an idea in his head, there was no turning back. When Dean made a plan, they stuck to the plan. Period. And the plan that currently had Sam in such a fuss was a simple one, one that defied all common sense and precaution. Split up. Search the house. Report back. Stupid ass.

When no one had answered the door at Vincent Newman's house, Sam had taken it as a divine sign that they should sit back and think this out a bit more. Call the Sheriff, tell him their suspicions. Find out a little more about Vincent Newman before they came back to try again. But no. Dean had to be stubborn, because that's just who Dean was. A stubborn, stupid, ill tempered ass who only listened to reason when he was the one to think of it first. But the moment Sam questioned his plans, the moment Sam tried to play the voice of reason, Dean would give him that shit faced look and Sam would find himself dragged off into another dangerous situation that could have been avoided if only they'd spent two extra minutes thinking logically. But Dean fucking Winchester did not do logic.

Sam sighed, trying to calm his nerves and the angry thoughts aimed towards his brother that were racing through his head while he searched through the upstairs rooms of Vincent's house. They'd picked the lock to the back door and had invited themselves inside. Sam was annoyed with his brother, and a bit frustrated, but the truth of the matter was that he was worried. And not just because Dean was hurt. Sure, he didn't really like having Dean out of his sight when his brother seemed so vulnerable, but the real thing that was now fueling his current state of emotions was the thought that every time they split up, something bad _always_ happened. Without fail. He was sure that by now Dean would have to realize this. After everything they'd been through, his brother would had to have picked up on what was now common knowledge. But apparently he hadn't since Sam was currently sifting through Vincent Newman's dressed while Dean was downstairs somewhere, trying to find anything that would be cause for alarm.

They weren't even sure what they were supposed to be looking for. Dean had told him to have a "take no prisoners" attitude. It something looked strange or seemed remotely tragedy inducing, kill it. Those had been Dean's instructions. Sam wasn't sure what he was supposed to be "killing," but he hoped he'd know it when he saw it. So far he hadn't found anything interesting. A few embarrassing magazines, strange collections of do-it-yourself DVDs, and a couple hidden stashes of cash, but nothing out of the ordinary for an older man to have. They guys' house was sickeningly clean, there wasn't even a speck of dust on anything. Sam was growing frustrated. What the hell were they supposed to be looking for?

Dean wasn't having any better luck on the first floor. He'd already checked the living room and hadn't found anything out of the ordinary. Now, he had moved onto the kitchen and was rummaging around in the cupboards. The guy was a health nut, Dean gave him that. Fruits, vegetables and cereal seemed to make up this guy's entire diet. There wasn't even a beer in the fridge, to which Dean was fairly disappointed.

He sighed as he closed the cupboard and gave the kitchen one last look around. When he found nothing he let out a growl of frustration and leaned against the sink, chewing the side of his cheek, trying to figure out what to do next. Dean looked out the kitchen window at the back yard. The snow looked pristinely elegant, untouched with a thin layer of ice over it. Then his eyes went to something else and Dean felt a light turn on inside his head. The garage was separated from the house, sitting in the far corner of the driveway, almost taunting his own stupidity. He smiled shyly and glared at it.

Swinging out the backdoor and walking quickly to the garage so as to minimize the chances of being seen by a neighbor, Dean jiggled the doorknob on the side door to the garage and gave a sigh of relief when he found it was unlocked. He pushed the door open and quietly closed it behind him. He looked out the window to see if anyone had seen him. When he was satisfied that no one had, he turned and was startled to see the black Sedan that was parked inside. He frowned. Why would Vincent leave home without his car in the middle of winter? Maybe he was a nature freak and wanted to save the ozone or whatever the hell it was. Dean quickly looked around the garage and gave a small, "Mr. Newman?" just to be sure he was alone. When no one answered and the garage remained eerily quiet, Dean let out a breath and looked around the room again, this time slower, taking in everything he could.

The far wall didn't hold much. Two windows let in the early afternoon sun. Beneath the windows was a spare tire and a few oil cans. Nothing odd there. Dean turned to look at the back of the garage and frowned at what he saw. A workbench lined the entire wall and followed the corner halfway up the left side of the garage. The tables were littered with tools, wires, pipes, jars of materials and other assorted gadgets. Maps and designs were taped to the walls above the workbenches. It was cluttered and messy, the exact opposite of what the inside of Vincent's house had been like.

Walking over to the workbench, Dean looked down at the mess on the table. He reached out and picked up one of the jars. There was a black powder inside. "The hell?" Dean asked out loud and unscrewed the top. He took a tentative sniff of what was inside and when he recognized the obvious sulfur smell, he closed the jar and set it back down, staring at it menacingly. "Why would a dude have jars of gunpowder in his garage?" Dean asked quietly to himself. He looked at the other supplies on the table. Gunpowder, pipes, wires, torn apart clocks.

Suddenly, his stomach dropped as he realized what he was looking at. These supplies were the makings of a bomb. He quickly reached out and started searching through the materials. Okay, the pieces were starting to fall together. Dean was more sure than ever that this was where they were supposed to be. This was the tragedy they were supposed to stop, a bomb going off. But where? Was it already planted? Was it already set to explode?

Dean's eyes shot to the maps and designs on the wall above the workbench. He squinted at them, taking a moment to try and figure out that they said and meant. Dammit why hadn't he paid better attention in Geometry. Maps and blueprints had been a section in that class, right? God, why did Sam have to be the smart one? Hadn't his brother ever heard of sharing the wealth?

Then he caught something on one of the maps. He leaned forward to get a better look at it. He could make out the downtown of Fort Sudak. He found the motel and the parkway near the river. In the middle of it all, there was a big red "X" circled and highlighted. Dean read the words beneath the site on the map, trying to figure out where it was. His heart sped up as he realized the mark was right over the memorial park. He frowned, trying to think of why a man would put a bomb in a park, where no one was during the winter. He scanned all his memories, trying to figure it out. Suddenly, he remembered the old woman with the dog. They had followed her to the parkway. She'd been putting up decorations, but for what? The town had already been decorated. He tried to remember if he'd overheard anything the woman had been saying when Sam went to get the coffee. He could almost hear her voice in his head. She'd talked about her grandkids and chatted about the weather.

And then it hit him. The decorations she was putting up. She'd said something. Dean took a deep breath of apprehension as he remembered what she had said to the men helping her _"These will look perfect for the Christmas concert." _A concert. There was going to be a concert. In the memorial park. Right where this fucker had marked as a target. Jesus, he had to tell Sam.

Dean whirled, ready to run back to the house and tell his little brother what he had found. He made it half a step before he froze and abruptly realized that he wasn't alone. A man stood in front of him, breathing heavily, a horrified look on his face. Dean looked him over, noticing the sweat on the man's forehead, the shaking in the man's arms. The man had one hand held out to the side, clutching onto something, the other lay trembling over his stomach. This was Vincent Newman. He stared him down, waiting for the man to make a move. Dean knew he could take him. He could easily win in a fight over this man, injured or not. _Come at me, you son of a bitch, _Dean thought, tensing his body for action.

Nothing in his twenty some odd years of hunting the supernatural prepared Dean for what happened next. He could dispel ghosts, he could exorcise demons, hell he could kill a ghoul in half a second. But this, John Winchester had never told him how to handle this.

Vincent Newman pulled his shirt up slowly, revealing the homemade pipe bomb that was strapped to his stomach. Dean was frozen. His mind drew a blank on strategies and plans to get out of this one. Vincent held the detonation device in his hand, his thumb coming dangerously close to pressing down on it. The both of them had yet to speak and Dean desperately tried to think of something to say to get the man to let go of that detonation device. Dean could knock it away, knock it out of his hand, but not without the man's thumb involuntarily squeezing down on the trigger.

And as the two stood facing off, neither one of them saying a thing, Dean couldn't help but think that his luck must have run out somewhere along the line. Two hostage situations in one day? This had to be a record.

Sam was growing frustrated. He'd searched all the rooms on the second floor and hadn't found a thing. Deciding that he was done with this, that Dean's plan was shit and he needed to tell him that, he threw his hands up and marched out of the bedroom. Coming down the stairs, he tried to listen for the sounds of his brother ruffling through things down here. When he didn't hear anything he called out, "Dean?" No answer. Sighing in irritation now, Sam snuck out the backdoor and hurried around to the car, where Kate was waiting, annoyed. There was a thin prick of warning in the back of Sam's mind when he realized Dean wasn't with her.

Kate spotted him and quickly opened the door. "About damn time," she whispered angrily.

"Where's Dean?" Sam asked, ignoring her for a moment.

She looked at him and shook her head. "What?" she looked confused. "He's still inside."

"No he's not," Sam said and turned to look at the house half hoping he'd see Dean standing in one of the windows mockingly making some rude gestures towards them. But the house was utterly quiet. Sam turned back to Kate, now worried. "You didn't see him come out?" he asked, his voice giving away his nervousness.

"No," Kate shook her head. "Maybe he's in the basement?" she suggested, though Sam could tell she didn't believe that.

"There wasn't a basement," Sam said, distracted. He gave the house a once over before letting out a frustrated growl. "I'm going back in," he said and headed towards the backyard again.

Kate hesitated for just a second before following him. "I'm coming this time," she announced needlessly.

Sam turned the corner and started for the backdoor when he stopped suddenly, Kate nearly running into him. Sam was looking at the ground, having caught sight of the footprints that hadn't been there before. He followed them with his eyes and saw that they lead to the garage. Sam let out a relieved sigh. "God, I'm gonna kick his ass," Sam grumbled as he followed the footsteps.

As he reached the door, he paused and looked inside the garage through the small window, just out of habit. Always good to be precautious. He was relieved again when he saw Dean standing at the back of the garage. Good, he'd found his brother. But as he looked at Dean, he noticed something strange. His brother was standing stock still, his hands held slightly out in front of him, fingers up, like he were warding something off. Dean's eyes stared stonily at something in front of him. Sam reached a hand back and roughly shoved Kate behind him, knowing without having to see for himself that Dean wasn't alone inside the garage. Kate started to yell at him for being rough, but he shushed her with a quick jerk of his head.

Leaning as much as he dared around the window, his eyes finally fell on the man standing opposite his brother. He was an older man, kind of chubby, not much of a threat. Sam started to wonder what was going on until his eyes fell to the device strapped to the man's stomach. His eyes widened and he let out a small gasp. "Shit," he hissed and turned to look at Kate. "Call the Sheriff," he whispered.

Kate's eyes widened. "Why?" she whispered back, aware that something was happening.

"Vincent's in there," Sam hissed, turning back to the window and watching his brother. "And I think he has a bomb strapped to his chest."

"Oh God," Kate uttered, horrified. She waited for only a second before running back to the car and quickly dialing the Sheriff's number.

Sam stared hard at his brother. He didn't know what to do. The man was obviously distraught and he was a big enough threat for Dean to not want to take him down like he normally would. He didn't want to chance startling the man and accidentally making him set off the bomb. But God, Dean was in there. First Bill Cummings, now this idiot. Sam wondered when this job had turned into something more than just fighting off malevolent spirits. It wasn't their job to take down distraught drunks and suicide bombers. What had they gotten themselves into?

Dean was starting to panic. It had been a while since he'd been in a situation that made him panic when it didn't involve Sam. He wasn't sure why, after all the experience he had with thinking on his feet, that he wasn't able to handle this. Maybe it was because he'd always thought he'd go out swinging. It would be some valiant thing. This sure as hell wasn't valiant. And maybe he wouldn't even die. Maybe the bomb would just blow off a limb or two, leave him deformed, scarred, a vegetable. That thought scared him more than death. But the thought that scared him the most was the he wouldn't be able to say goodbye to Sam, to tell him that this wasn't his fault. Sam would inevitably blame himself for this, even if Dean told him not to. He'd never get a chance to apologize for putting that guilt there, for leaving before Sam was completely back on his feet, before they found Dad.

But Dean wasn't ready to give up. He'd nearly talked Bill Cummings out of his horrible situation, he could do the same for this dude. And if he succeeded, then by God once they finished fighting the supernatural he'd get a job as a hostage negotiator. Yeah, it was a plan. Now all he had to do was make it happen.

"Vincent," Dean said slowly, aware that his voice sounded odd after the silent tension. Vincent shook his head, his face crumbling. Dean held his hand up and licked his lips nervously. "Wait," he pleaded. "You don't have to do this. Look, just put that down and…"

"I can't," Vincent cried, shaking his head. "We're going to die."

Dean shook his head slowly, the panic grabbing hold of his chest. "We don't have to if you put that down," he nodded towards the detonation device in Vincent's hand. "We can both walk out of here, in one piece."

"No," Vincent cried. "We're all meant to die. It's going to happen."

"It doesn't have to," Dean pleaded, hating how his voice broke at the end. God, what would his Dad think? Breaking down like this. Pull it together Dean. You can do this.

"Yes it does," Vincent sobbed, his hand shaking the device. Dean felt his chest constrict with fear, his eyes watering. Don't you dare fucking cry you pussy. "The Mothman said it does. I saw it in a dream. He told me to do this."

Dean stared at the man, hard. He pushed back the lump that had formed in his throat and took a deep, shuttering breath. "No," he said sternly and Vincent just stared at him. "The Mothman doesn't want this to happen. He's trying to stop it. He's trying to get us to stop it. He was probably warning you against doing this. I can help you this."

"You can't," Vincent whispered, though there was skepticism in his voice.

"Yes I can," Dean told him, nodding his head. He glanced at the device and then back at Vincent's eyes. "I deal with evil things all the time. It's what I do. My brother helps me. We can help you. We can make the Mothman leave you alone."

Vincent sucked in a shuttering sob. "He's going to kill me," he sputtered.

"No he won't. I wont' let him," Dean said, feeling the lump form back in his throat as Vincent's hand shook violently. "Just put it down, Vincent."

The man trembled quietly for a moment, his eyes not leaving Dean's face. Dean stared back at him, willing the man to put it down, to end all of this, all of this whole escapade they'd been on. To put an end to the Mothman's prophecy once and for all. Avert this tragedy, save some lives, move on, far, far away. It will all end, all of this mystery if the man will just put the stupid thing down.

Vincent finally looked away, his chin dropped to his chest as he looked down at the bomb strapped around him. He let out a sob and slowly started to bend. Dean watched him, feeling waves of emotion coursing through his body. He couldn't tell if it was panic or relief. But as soon as Vincent's hand let go of the remote, Dean's body instantly betrayed him as his knees gave out and he had to lean back against the workbench and hold on to keep from falling over.

As soon as Vincent started standing again, the door to the garage suddenly burst open. A man in protective gear rushed in, apprehending Vincent in a harsh move. Dean realized that they must have been watching through the window for an opportunity when they wouldn't startle Vincent. Sam must have called them. Thank God for Sam. Several others followed him in, surrounding Vincent and subduing him. One came over to Dean and grabbed his arm, ushering him out of the garage quickly, faster then Dean could handle. He stumbled a bit but managed to keep his feet.

And suddenly Sam was at his side, and Dean knew it was over.

Sam had never felt so relieved in his life when the County bomb squad had shown up with the Sheriff. They'd sat outside of the garage, listening to the conversation inside and waiting. When the man had burst into the garage, Sam had nearly panicked, waiting for the bomb to explode any second and take away his brother. But then, others rushed in and after just a few moments, one came back out, with Dean in tow.

Practically sprinting to his brother, Sam stopped in front of him and looked him over. Dean was pale and shaking slightly, his eyes wide with obvious fear. Sam put a hand on his shoulder and Dean looked up at him. Sam was just about to ask him if he was okay when Dean said, "God damn I need a drink."

Sam laughed and squeezed his brother's shoulder, resisting the temptation to pull him into a hug. But he didn't take his hand off of him as they both were ushered away from the garage, back to Kate who was waiting near the street. She seemed genuinely concerned for Dean and even fussed over him for a bit. Dean was quiet and nervous for a while, but eventually he began to calm and regain himself as they stood there watching the Sheriff and bomb squad take care of Vincent Newman.

"So," Kate started but none of them took their eyes off the commotion. "Is it over?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed, out of relief. "It's over." And with the words said, Sam felt the tension in his shoulders reside, tension that had been there since that first night in the bathroom when Dean had seen the Mothman. Good God it was finally over.

"Piece of cake," Dean chirped and Sam turned to look at him, but chuckled when he saw the grin that was spread across his brother's face.

Hours later, after they had spoken with the Sheriff, had a dinner that was a long time coming, and said goodbye to Kate with the intentions of seeing her again before they actually left Fort Sudak, Sam and Dean found themselves back in their motel room. They still had a couple of days before the Impala would be ready to drive. Dean complained about having to stick around longer, but Sam was happy that they would get a chance to rest before they had to deal with anything else. Sam was tired, and Dean was in desperate need of some major healing time. A couple of days probably wasn't enough, but Sam would take whatever he could get. Besides, Christmas was just around the corner and Sam was looking forward to actually celebrating it, whether Dean wanted to or not.

Sam stepped out of his jeans and sat down on the bed, intent on actually trying to sleep tonight. Dean was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, though he still stood close to the door, one foot on the carpet, not entirely trusting the bathroom again quite yet. Dean spit into the sink and came out, stripping off his long sleeve shirt and pulling on a white one, more fit for sleeping. He crawled into his bed and laid down with a content groan. Sam smiled as Dean mumbled a muffled, "Mmm, bed." They were both quiet for a moment before Dean said, "We can rub this one in Dad's face, huh?"

Looking over at his brother, Sam gave a half smile. "Yeah," then he turned away and let the smile fade. "Once we find him."

"We will, Sammy," Dean said, his voice started to fade, already groggy.

Sam laid back in his own bed and looked at the ceiling. For a moment, he felt odd again, like there was something that wasn't quite right. But he quickly reminded himself that it was over. They'd stopped the disaster form happening. Still, something didn't seem right. But Sam couldn't tell what. They'd gotten all the clues, followed them until there were no more. Sam turned his head to look at the side table. He spotted the piece of paper that sat there, folded and crumpled. He reached over and picked it up. Unfolding it, he looked at the words scribbled there. The words Jess had said to him in that phone call.

Hello, Sam.

I love you, Sam.

Manheim needs his bone.

Save my baby.

Is that a bad man?

Do you see the birds?

Sammy, I'm sorry.

He will see.

Sam read the words over and over again. Something wasn't right. He couldn't figure out what. Jess said she loved him, she'd given him all the clues, said she was sorry and the predicted Dean would see the Mothman. It was all there, they'd gone through it all. He read it through one more time, taking it slow, hearing Jess's voice say the words in his head.

Suddenly, Sam shot up, taking in a gasp. "Dean!" he yelled. Dean startled in his bed and his eyes opened. When he saw Sam looking so frightened, he pushed himself up, hand going for the knife beneath his pillow.

"What?" he asked, slowly coming back to alertness.

"It's not over," Sam said, turning to look fearfully at his brother.

Dean stared at him and frowned. "What?"

"It's not over," Sam said again, accentuation the words.

"How do you know?" Dean asked, swinging his legs off the bed and grabbing the paper from Sam's hands. "We didn't miss anything."

"Yes we did," Sam said, waiting for Dean to look back up at him. When he did, Sam stared him straight in the eye. "Sammy, I'm sorry." When Dean just stared blankly at him, like he didn't understand, Sam went on. "Jess never called me Sammy."

"So?" Dean asked, still not seeing the point.

"You're the only one who does."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Sam could almost see the gears turning in his brother's mind. Dean's face was scrunched, his eyes blankly staring at a spot on Sam's bed. On a good day, Sam would tell him not to hurt himself, but this was far from a good day. It wasn't over. They hadn't stopped anything. But Vincent Newman had told the police he hadn't rigged anything to explode. It was going to be a suicide bombing, so he would have had the bomb on him. The County bomb squad had checked out the memorial park anyway and said that they hadn't found anything. Everything was safe. But it still wasn't over.

Dean's eyes finally rose to meet Sam's and he chewed on his lip before saying, "Sam, that's stretching it a bit." The quaver in his voice told Sam that his brother didn't believe that, not one bit.

"No it's not," Sam shook his head. "We must have missed something along the way. We had to have missed something," Sam started mumbling to himself as he took the piece of paper with the clues written on it and headed over to the table where his laptop sat.

"Sam," Dean said, his voice pleading. "It's over."

"Does it feel over to you?" Sam snapped, a bit harsher than he had meant to. He saw the look of hurt that passed over his brother's face and took a breath to calm himself. Dean was shaken, he wanted it to be over, of course he would fight to believe that. He didn't know why he was snapping at Dean, but he really needed his brother to back him on this one. If they worked together, they could still stop this from happening. When Dean didn't respond, Sam sighed and said, "Look, I'm going to map out everything we've done in the past few days. Maybe we'll see something that we didn't see before."

"Dude, you're not going to find anything," Dean said. "We've done everything we can. The clues lead us to a dead end. It's over."

Sam stared at his brother, not believing what he was hearing. Since when did Dean ever give up on a hunt? Sure, this wasn't exactly a hunt, and they had a shit ton of close calls, he'd give him that, but hell, Dean never left anything unfinished. Especially not when it was obvious the outcome was going to be something horrific. "We can't just give up," Sam demanded, frowning at his brother. "We still have time to figure this out."

"No, Sam," Dean's voice took on that authoritative tone that it sometimes got when Dean was making a decision. It was the same tone their Dad had used on them when it was clear there would be no arguments. And it had always worked when they were kids. But Sam wouldn't let it work now, not this time. "We're done."

"Dean," Sam said, exasperated. "These are people's lives we're talking about."

"Dammit, Sam!" Dean yelled, his voice raising as he stood up. Sam was taken aback by the aggressiveness there. The emotion was raw and again Sam found himself confused. Why was Dean being so stubborn? Didn't he realize that people were going to die if they didn't do something? "We're not doing it. Now shut up and go to bed."

"Are you kidding me?" Sam yelled back. Dean just tilted his head and pursed his lips in anger. "So we're just going to let them die? We're not even going to try and save them?"

"If that's the way you want to see it, then fine," Dean spat, his whole body shaking with his words. "We're going to let them die!"

Sam had had just about enough of this. He stood quickly and advanced on Dean, watching as his brother's posture tensed, ready to fight. Sam had no intention of fighting him and the fact that Dean thought he might made Sam's head ache. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam screamed, feeling his face flush with anger. "You're acting like you don't care that people are going to die. That's not you, Dean." Sam's voice softened a little at the look his brother was giving him. He looked almost on the verge of tears. It surprised him and Sam forced himself to calm down, bending his head a little to look into Dean's eyes. "What's going on?" he asked softly.

Dean stared back, chewing on his lip, peeling away thin layers of skin with his teeth. It was a nervous habit Dean had when he was a teenager, one that John had spent a long time trying to get him to quite. His brother had done it so much that it looked as though he were walking around with split lips and cold sores all the time. It didn't help that this time his lip actually was split and the nervous chewing was making it bleed. It was a weird habit, but it was the only way Sam could tell when Dean was truly upset over something.

Reaching out, he put a hand on Dean's arm, scared now at the way his brother was acting. "Dean? Just tell me what's wrong. Tell me why you don't want to do this anymore." Dean looked as if he were going to say something but then clamed up again. Sam sighed. "Look, if you're scared something's going to happen to you…"

Dean cut him off with an angry groan as he reached out and gave Sam a harsh shove. The movement surprised Sam and he had to stop himself from instinctively shoving back. "God Sam," Dean said, looking at him as if he'd just been insulted. "I'm not worried about me, you fucker," he spat, his words harsh but his voice wavering. "You're such an idiot," he said and sat down on the bed.

"Then what?" Sam demanded.

His brother didn't look up at him as he said, "Sammy, that apology is short winded." As if that should explain it all. When Sam didn't say anything, Dean looked up at him. "I'm a man of many words," he tried to joke but couldn't quite get it across. "When I give an apology, and trust me I don't give them often, I drag it out, I don't come out and say it like that. I wouldn't say it like that. Not unless…" his brother trailed off, looking horribly downhearted. Sam though he knew where his brother's thoughts were headed. But he had to make sure. He didn't want to give him any ideas if he wasn't thinking them already.

"Unless?" Sam coaxed gently.

Back to biting his lip, Dean shook his head like it was the hardest thing in the world to get his words out. "Unless you were hurt." And there it was. "Or worse." The words were broken. Sam stared at his brother, not knowing what to say. He should have guessed that Dean's nervousness was stemmed from something like this. Dean may be an ass sometimes, but he'd never just sit back and let people die when there was a possibility that he could save them, and even if there wasn't. Dean was a hero, in every aspect of the word, and he basked in that label. He loved being the hero. He lived for being the hero. He wouldn't have it any other way. Except when being the hero meant letting Sam get hurt.

"Dean," Sam said and sat down on his bed so he was eye level with his brother, but Dean wouldn't look at him. These were very rare moments when he saw his brother like this. Dean normally didn't let things like this get to him, he didn't let threats deter his resolve. He always had it in his mind that no matter what the threat, he'd be able to prove it wrong. He'd take extra caution, bring extra equipment, make sure he was completely on top of his game…

Sam suddenly realized why Dean was so uncharacteristically nervous. A threat had been made, one that normally wouldn't sway his brother from action. But Dean had interpreted the threat to be for Sam. In Dean's mind, he could only see himself saying the apology if Sam was lying on his back, dying, if Dean had failed in protecting him. And any other time, Dean would just make sure that he kept Sam close to him, kept an extra eye on him. But this time was different. This time, Dean wasn't on top of his game. He was hurt. His reaction time was slow, he'd allowed himself to be snuck up on at Vincent Newman's house, and as much as Dean was able to ignore the pain, his body couldn't. Pain slowed him down, whether he chose to acknowledge it or not. Dean was afraid that he wouldn't be able to protect Sam.

"Nothing's going to happen," Sam said softly, wanting his brother to look at him, but Dean was stubbornly staring at the wall. "And I can't just sit back and let this happen because you're afraid I'm going to get hurt. Dean, people will die if we don't do this. I'm willing to take the chance of getting myself hurt if it means saving them."

That caught Dean's attention. His eyes flickered to Sam and he was surprised to see the emotion there. "I'm not going to watch you die, Sam," Dean whispered.

Sam was touched by the words. His brother wasn't one for moments like this, when he let his feelings be known, when he expressed his love. It reminded him how much they'd been through the past couple of days, how much this whole ordeal had broken his brother down, so much that he let down his resolve and let Sam see his emotions. Sam smiled at him. "You won't," he said. "I promise." Dean looked at him skeptically and Sam just grinned goofily. "Even if I have to cover your eyes." Dean smiled finally at the joke and Sam felt the mood lighten. He reached out and patted Dean's knee. "It'll be okay," he assured again as he rose to his feet.

"Yeah, well it better be," Dean grumbled, though the humor was back in his voice. "Or I'm conjuring your ass and making you my personal slave for the rest of my measly life."

Sam snorted at that as he sat back down at the laptop. "Yeah right," he mocked. "I'd whoop your ass the moment you brought me back."

"Ha," Dean spat and pushed himself back on the bed so he was propped on the pillows. "You could try."

Sam smiled as he started typing out the clues and giving detailed descriptions of everything they'd done from the moment of the phone call up until the time they left Vincent Newman's house. After a few minutes, he realized it was going to take him a long time to do so. He looked up at Dean, who had his head leaned back against the headboard, his eyes partway closed. God, he must be tired, Sam thought. "You know, this is going to take a while," he said and Dean opened his eyes and looked at him. "If you wanted to get some sleep…" Dean looked unsure for a moment and Sam flashed him another grin. "I promise to scream if the boogeyman comes to kill me."

Dean looked unamused but the words seemed to have the desired effect as he rolled over, with a grimace, and laid down on his stomach, his head turned to the side so the pillow wouldn't irritate his stitches or bruising. Sam continued to watch him until Dean's eyes flickered closed and his breathing grew even. Once he was sure he was asleep, he went back to typing up the recall map of the past two days. He was going to be at it for a while.

Five hours later, after making horrendously detailed descriptions of every possible thing Sam could remember, every little detail, every name, face, tree and snowflake Sam could recall from his memory, he was finally done. He leaned back in his chair and cracked his back. He glanced at the clock. It was almost six in the morning. He hadn't realized they had gotten back from the Sheriff's so late. He rubbed his hands over his tired eyes and then read through the entire document to see if he could pick up on anything by himself before he woke his brother to help. There was nothing.

Looking over at his brother, he saw Dean hadn't moved much. He almost hated to wake him, but Sam figured that they didn't have much time. The Mothman had gotten pretty relentless in the past few days and Sam was sure that whatever was going to happen would happen soon. He got up and stretched again before heading to his brother. "Dean?" he called and was happy when Dean's eyes opened on the first summoning. It took a moment for Dean to realize that Sam was standing over him and when he did, he immediately groaned and pushed himself up. "Sorry," Sam apologized, knowing his brother needed the sleep.

"Nah," Dean dismissed it and sat up. "You done already?"

"Already?" Sam mocked. "It's been five hours."

Dean frowned and turned to look at the clock. "Well, Jesus what took you?"

"I got detailed," Sam defended and walked over to the table again, Dean following slowly in tow. He yawned before sitting next to Sam and started to read the document.

"Yeah you got detailed," Dean muttered. "Why the hell do I need to know that there was an orange cat sitting in a window down the street from the bookshop?"

"It could mean something," Sam said with a shrug.

"It could mean you're a freak," Dean grumbled, but quieted as he continued to read.

After he was done, Dean sat back, looking thoughtful. Sam sat quietly, letting his brother collect his thoughts. Finally, Dean turned to him and said, "I don't see anything." Sam sighed and nodded. He had hoped that the recall map would help, but it hadn't. They weren't any closer to figuring it out.

"Well there has to be something," Sam said, more to himself than to Dean.

The brothers sat quietly for a moment, each racking their brains for something that they had missed. Finally, it was Dean who said something. "Maybe there was something at Vincent's house that we were supposed to pick up on?" he suggested.

"Like what?" Sam asked. "We looked all over his house. There was nothing."

Dean was quiet for a while before his eyes suddenly widened. He turned and looked at Sam. "You know, our pal Vince said that he was told to bomb the Christmas concert in a dream." Sam's eyebrows rose at that. He hadn't known that. "He said the Mothman told him to do it."

"Why would he do that?" Sam asked.

"I don't think he did," Dean said, shaking his head. "Maybe he was trying to warn Vince, just like he's trying to warn us. But Vince didn't get it."

"So you think that there actually is a bomb in the park?" Sam asked.

Dean ran a hand over his split lip. "Yeah, I do," he said finally.

"But the bomb squad checked it out," Sam pointed out. "They said it was all clear."

"Well then, what if it's not a bomb?" Dean said, his face growing more and more concerned. Sam just watched him, knowing his brother was making some connection that Sam hadn't been able to. He tried not to let it bother him. "When the Silver bridge collapsed in Point Pleasant, there was no reason for it, it just happened. A freak accident. The same thing could happen here. Some freak accident. An explosion that shouldn't happen, that can't be explained."

Sam milled the thought over in his mind, slowly starting to agree with what Dean was saying. It made sense. And the more he thought about it, the more it just seemed to feel right. Putting everything together, following the clues inside his head, from the old lady with her dog all the way to Vincent's plan to bomb the concert, it made sense. One thing lead to another and Vincent's plans were practically screaming in that direction. Sam felt stupid for not seeing it sooner, but he hadn't known Vincent had dreamed about the Mothman.

"So something's going to happen at the Christmas concert," Dean said out loud.

"Or at least in that area," Sam interjected.

"Well, the concert's not until tonight, so we have some time…" Dean cut himself off as he saw Sam's eyes widening even as Dean was speaking. "What?"

"It's a memorial park," Sam whispered. "Kate said that they have a memorial service there every year in the morning before the concert."

Dean picked up on the implications of what Sam was saying. "What time?"

"Seven." Sam and Dean's heads whipped to the clock. "God, that's in half an hour."

Dean was on his feet before Sam could finish his sentence. He pulled on a pair of pants and grabbed his coat. Sam hurried to do the same. As they headed to the door, Dean hesitated and glanced at him. Sam knew what his brother was thinking. The worries from earlier, about the clue, still lingered behind his brother's eyes. "Dean, we have to," he said. Dean nodded, took a breath, and stepped out the door.

They got to the park a quarter to seven. Sam felt his heart drop when he saw just how many people were there. At least two hundred people were standing around, warmly dressed, laughing and chatting and ready to enjoy the day. Not on of them suspected a thing. Not even the people who had been warned by the Mothman. They'd all seen the news, seen that Vincent Newman had been arrested, claiming that the Mothman told him to do it. The threat was gone. No one had anything to fear anymore. God, they had to get those people out of there.

"Sam!" he turned at the sound of his name and saw Kate approaching. She had a little boy in her arms and a small girl was perched on the shoulders of a man behind her. She was grinning. "Hey," she said and held a hand out to the man. "Sam, this is my husband, Peter. Peter, this is the guy I was telling you about."

Peter smiled and held out his hand. "Ah, so you're the hero."

Sam shook his hand, not wanting to be rude, but then looked quickly at Kate. She could help. She'd believe him and she'd help. But as his eyes fell onto the child in her arms, he knew he couldn't ask that of her. Not when she had so much to lose. She must have picked up on his worry because she grabbed his arm and made him look into her eyes. "Sam?" she asked, brow furrowed.

"Kate, we were wrong," he said quietly. Kate looked confused at first but then her eyes widened. "We haven't stopped anything. It's still going to happen."

"But they checked for a bomb," she said, shaking her head.

"Kate, just trust me," he pleaded and looked again at the boy in her arms. "Get your family out of here, quick. Try to get as many people as you can to do the same, but get you and your family out of here."

"What's going on?" Peter asked.

Kate turned to him. "Trust him," she said sternly. She turned back to Sam. "What about you?"

"We're going to find the Sheriff," Dean said from where he stood to the side. "We have to clear this place out."

"And you need to go," Sam said, putting a hand on her back and gently pushed her towards the exit. Peter followed her, giving Sam an odd glance as he passed.

"Sam!" Kate called back. "Be careful."

He gave her a nod before turning back to the task at hand. The Sheriff. They needed to find Wyatt. Sam used his height to his advantage and looked over the top of people's head, trying to spot the man. Finally, he saw him, standing near the stage. "Dean," Sam called and headed towards him, his brother following closely. A steel fence blocked the stage off from the crowd and Sam found himself trapped behind it a good twenty feet away. He put a hand to his mouth and called out, "Sheriff!" He had to do it two more times before the lawman turned and spotted him. He gave a wave and headed over, but sobered when he noticed the look on Sam's face. "Sheriff, we have to get these people out of here," he said loudly, trying to be heard over all the noise.

"Why? What's going on?" The Sheriff asked, eyes wide.

"The Mothman was trying to warn Vince," Dean said. "Not make him do it."

"Are you saying there's a bomb here?" Sheriff Wyatt asked.

"We don't know," Sam gave. "But something's going to happen here. We need to clear out this park."

The Sheriff nodded and gave a distracted, "Yeah, alright," before he turned and clicked the button on his shoulder radio. He told the deputy who answered about the situation. Almost immediately, a police siren went off and the crowd began to quiet. A deputy got on the loudspeaker of the car and started to tell people that the service was cancelled and people are asked to go back to their homes. The Sheriff looked back at Sam. "Do you know where it is?" he asked.

"No," Sam said regretfully. "It could happen anywhere."

The Sheriff nodded and put his hands on his hips. "Well, once all these people are out, we'll call in the bomb squad…"

Anything else the Sheriff had to say was cut off suddenly by a sudden and powerful explosion from behind him near the stage. Sam felt a heated force hit him, felt himself fall backwards landing harshly on the snowy pavement. The deafening sound had his ears ringing, blocking out everything else. Sam felt like he'd just been blindsided by a semi. He let the initial shock fade away as debris and ash fell down around him, before he started to process what happened. The smell of smoke quickly surrounded him. Finally, he regained some of his wits and opened his eyes. The sky was growing black with smoke. His hearing began to return, albeit slowly and he could hear screaming and crying and shouting. His body was throbbing and he rather painfully propped himself up on his elbows, blinking away the accompanying dizziness and fogginess as he looked in front of him. The stage was a mass of fire and debris, still burning. His eyes fell on the Sheriff, who lay face down in front of him, the back of his head a bloody mess, other spots of blood littering his tan uniform. His eyes were wide open and he was obviously dead. Sam hoped it was just the shock messing with his head when he realized he didn't feel any pain over seeing the man dead.

He squinted as dizziness hit him again. When it was gone, he opened his eyes again and started looking around. To his left, there were people crying and screaming, one man missing an arm, a few people lay motionless. He suddenly realized how lucky he was to be alive, and in one piece. Dean's assumption had been wrong. He didn't die, hell he wasn't even that badly hurt. Sam turned his head to the right, intent on assuring Dean that he was fine. But the sight that caught him immediately made Sam regain all his senses and block out all the trauma around him. His eyes focused in on the sight in front of him, his face draining of color and panic constricting his chest.

Dean lay on his back, face livid, back arching, one hand grasping harshly at the snow beneath him, the other one pulling feebly at a piece of metal that had embedded itself into his chest in a cacophony of blood and flesh. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth.

_Oh God._


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

_Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God, _Sam repeated over and over again in his head, not realizing he was mouthing the words as he scrambled across the small space separating him from his brother. There was so much blood. He could hear the choked gurgling noises coming from Dean's throat. His brother's eyes were shut tightly in pain, his back arching and relaxing in rhythm. His skin was paling by the second, making all of his previous injuries, and the soot that now covered his face and clothes, stand out like death warrants marring his body. Oh God, Dean was dying.

"Dean," Sam choked out, the tears coming quickly as he leaned over his brother, touching a hand gently to the side of his face. Dean's eyes didn't open, but he gave a grunt of pain and his back arched again, moving his head into Sam's soft touch. Suddenly, Sam couldn't get enough oxygen into his lungs. He stared down at the face of his brother, half of it bruised with day old wounds, scrunched in pain, his mouth a sickening shade of deep red as the blood stained his lips and coursed down the sides of his cheeks. "Oh God," Sam said again, unable to stop the panic that was mounting inside of him.

He should have known. Sam should have known that this was going to happen. He should have seen it coming. But Dean had been so adamant in believing that it was Sam's life that was in danger. His brother had been so set on making sure Sam took every precaution necessary. Sam had been an idiot. The Mothman hadn't show itself to Sam, it'd been showing itself to Dean, warning Dean. His own stupidity was going to cost him his brother's life. Sam let out a sob but closed his eyes, trying to regain control over himself. No, he couldn't do this. He couldn't panic right now. He wasn't going to lose his brother, not like this, not because of an idiotic mistake on his part.

Sam leaned further over his brother, eyeing the protruding piece of metal in his brother's chest. He didn't know how deep it went, but the blood coming from Dean's mouth told him that it was deep enough to puncture at least one lung, maybe both, he couldn't tell from the positioning. Sam looked back at his brother's face when Dean gave another grunt of pain and the gasped as the grunt just intensified it. He ran a hand through his brother's hair and called his name, trying to make his voice strong but failing miserably. At the sound of his voice, Dean turned his head slightly to the side, but his eyes remained closed, the gagging in Dean's throat growing louder.

_He's going to drown in his own blood, _Sam realized. He held back a sob at the thought and continued to run his hand over Dean's head. "Dean, come on, look at me," he called. When Dean's face crumbled and a tear slipped out from one of his closed eyes, trailing down his face and leaving a path in the soot, it was all Sam could do to keep from breaking down completely. "Dean," his voice cracked. "Please open your eyes."

Then, with way too much effort, Dean's eyes slid open. Those eyes. Sam had never seen so much pain and sadness there. Never. Not when they were growing up, not when Sam announced he was going to college, and not even when Dean talked about the possibility of their father being dead. Sam was looking at a stranger in those eyes, someone he'd never met before. He was staring at the four year old that Dean had been once, the child that had at one time been his brother, innocent, normal. Dean never had a childhood, not one where he was actually allowed to be a child. He'd grown up fast, he'd been forced to. He'd learned not to cry, not to take things to heart, to be strong. And even though there had been times when Sam thought that he'd seen his brother break down those boundaries, he realized that he'd never seen this. He'd never seen anything close to this. He'd never seen the life Dean had given up in just one glimpse into his pained eyes.

"S…Sammy," Dean choked out, blood gurgling from his mouth again, making his words near impossible to decipher, but Sam heard him clear as day.

"Shh," Sam hushed him, looking down at him and trying to look strong, but knowing that he wasn't able to. He felt it in his face, he could feel the tears on his cheeks and the frown on his lips. "Stay quiet, Dean." Sam took hold of one of Dean's hands. "Just hang on, you're going to be okay," Sam said, trying to convince himself as well as Dean. He looked up, trying to spot anyone who could possibly help. But people were running all over the place, panicked, maddened, horrified. Sam had never felt so helpless in his entire life.

"S…Sammy," Dean croaked again. Sam looked down at him, seeing Dean's eyes had hardened a bit, intent on making everything okay, to which Sam felt himself hating the fact that Dean felt like he was obligated to always make everything okay. He blamed himself for that just about as much as he blamed their father. "I…I'm sorry," Dean gasped out and Sam's heart stopped. So this was it. This was the final clue, the Mothman's cruel goodbye. Sam stared down at Dean, watching as his brother's eyes began to flicker. No. No it was not going to end like this.

"No!" Sam shouted, leaning close to his brother's face. Dean's eyes opened again, frowning slightly at him. "Don't you dare!" Sam screamed, putting a hand on the side of Dean's head, making his brother look at him. "Don't you fucking dare you selfish bastard. Don't you give up on me." Sam knew it was cruel to insult his brother like this, but he hoped it would spark some fight in him. Enough fight for him to hold on until they could get him some help. When his brother's eyes focused again, Sam realized that it was working.

Good, he had to make Dean angry, had to get him riled up, get it so he wanted to stick around, so the pain wouldn't cloud his mind, wouldn't make him wish for death. But how? How could Sam possibly contend with the pain his brother was so obviously in? He had to hit him where it hurt. He had to find his brother's weak spot. And he realized that his brother had only one weakness. Sam went for it, grinding into it so cruelly that he almost felt bad, almost. "Dean, if you die, I swear to God I'll kill myself and follow right after you." Sam watched his brother's eyes widen slightly, his face contorting in both pain and confusion. "Do you want me to die? Is that it? Do you hate me so much that you'd leave me and make me do that?"

Oh God, the look in Dean's eyes. He immediately wanted to take it all back, to tell Dean that he knew he'd never purposely leave him. But he held himself back. If Dean believed that Sam actually thought these things, then his brother would continue to fight, drawing on his need to stick around and play protector some more for his little brother. Sam knew that's how Dean worked, that's how Dean would always work.

Dean looked as if he wanted to say something, but the blood in his throat was making it impossible. Sam realized that just willing Dean to fight wasn't going to be enough. He had to stop the bleeding, get him medical help. He reached down and put a hand behind his brother's head, the other one letting go of Dean's fingers and slipping beneath his back. He wasn't sure if this was the best thing to do, but right now, he wasn't worried about anything else other than the fact that Dean was drowning.

Pulling Dean up gently, he cringed at the sharp gasps his brother was taking, the small moans and grunts of pain, the strangled cries as the foreign metal in his chest was jarred and sent waves of stabbing pain throughout Dean's entire body. Sam quickly moved himself so he was bracing his brother with his body, sitting at his side and letting Dean's shoulder lean into his. He stared in horror at the amount of blood that dribbled down Dean's chin. Dean was struggling harder and harder to breathe. And Sam didn't know how to help him.

Quickly taking off his coat, while trying not to jostle his brother too much, Sam bunched it up and carefully placed it around the metal that had punctured Dean's chest cavity. He had to stop the bleeding, as much as possible. His eyes went back to Dean's face and realized his brother was on the verge of passing out again. He rose a hand and cupped the side of Dean's chin, making him turn and look at him. Dean was shaking, choking still on blood and had now developed a sort of hack cough that sent blood flying from his mouth every so often. "Dean," Sam said and watched his brother's eyes focus once more. "Come on, stay with me," he coaxed. When tears started to fall from Dean's eyes, Sam tightened his grip on his brother and knew that they were losing this battle.

Looking around again, Sam saw that people who weren't in the blast were starting to help those who were. God, someone help me, Sam thought, and then voiced his wishes out loud, "Someone help!" he screamed, feeling his brother jerk at the volume of Sam's voice. He rubbed Dean's back soothingly, but kept his head up, looking around to see if anyone would come and help.

When Dean gave a sudden sob of pain, Sam's attention was turned back to his brother. He saw that Dean's hand had risen to the metal in his chest. He was grasping it as tightly as his weak hands could do and was trying to pull it out. Sam reached forward and grasped his brother's wrist with a quick, "No, don't." Dean let out another sob and Sam realized his brother was starting to panic, was starting to understand that as much as he wanted to, he may not be able to lick this one, he may not be able to stick around and save Sam from himself. "Leave it," Sam said softly, trying to soothe his brother in what ever way he could.

Someone suddenly squatted down next to Sam and when he turned to see who it was, he felt a moment's shock at the face that was now examining his brother. It was Scott Kingly. Scott Kingly who was supposed to be dead. When the man reached out for Dean, Sam swatted his hands away and he turned to look at him with wide blue eyes. "Don't touch him," Sam spat, really not wanting some ghost to work on his brother.

Scott merely looked at him with a gentle smile. "It's okay," he said, looking Sam square in the eye. Sam felt the man's words float over him, easing away some of the panic and pain. "I'm going to help him." When Sam still looked skeptical, Scott put a hand on his shoulder, still smiling warmly. "He's going to fight. This wasn't meant for him." _Fight. Not you._ The words echoed in Sam's mind and he suddenly realized what Dean's third encounter with the Mothman was for. It had been telling Dean that he wasn't meant to die. Not today at least.

Sam didn't say anything as Scott reached for his brother again. He noticed with sudden panic that Dean's head had dropped, his eyes closed, breathing shallow and gargling still on blood. He watched as Scott put his hands around the wound, examining it. The man reached out and lifted Dean's chin, smearing the blood across Dean's cheeks. Sam was surprised when his brother's eyes opened. Scott smiled at him. "Hello Dean," he said and Sam watched as his brother smiled, looking into Scott's eyes. He realized that the two were communicating with each other somehow, but he didn't know what they were saying. "How you doing? Sam wondered if he really expected an answer. Apparently he didn't as Scott moved to the opposite side and looked over at Sam. "Let go," he told him gently. "I've got him."

The words brought a fresh new wave of panic through Sam. No, he was not going to let go of his brother. He wasn't going to just let a ghost take over control of him. He'd probably steal him away, probably invite him into death. No way. No way in hell. "No," Sam choked, but his voice was so broken that he knew himself he wouldn't be able to deny Scott for long. Scott merely smiled and laid his hands on Sam's who were still on Dean, holding him upright. He watched, openly crying as Scott removed his hands from his brother. As soon as Sam lost contact with Dean, he felt the sadness wash over him in waves. No, no please no, he repeated in his head, watching as Scott pulled Dean into him, wrapping one arm under Dean's chin, cradling his head. Dean's eyes had closed again, his face snowy pale. Scott put a hand on Dean's back and slowly pushed, making Dean's hunched form straighten. His brother cried out at the motion and Sam just about lunged at the man in anger. But something held him back.

When Scott had Dean sitting up straight, he put a hand on the metal in Dean's chest. Sam was surprised when Scott looked over at him. "The doctors won't be able to get this out," he told him plainly, that stupid smile still on his face. Sam felt his heart drop. Was he telling him his brother was doomed? "He'll die on the operating table."

"No," Sam shuttered, unable to keep the small word from slipping out.

"But I'll get it out for them," he continued. "Keep him from bleeding out and he'll fight. This wasn't meant for him. I'll make this right again." The last sentence was said absently and Sam wondered if maybe this was why Scott hadn't crossed over yet. Maybe he was meant to help people until he felt he had made up for the life he had accidentally ended. Scott suddenly yanked on the metal.

Dean's scream brought Sam instantly back into the fray. He shoved Scott away and wrapped his arms around his brother, shifting the coat so it was covering the now gaping wound in his brother's chest. Dean was bucking in pain and it took every last ounce of strength for Sam to hold him down and in place. Small, heartbreaking cries were escaping Dean's throat and Sam felt fresh tears sting at his eyes and warm his cheeks. But after only a few short minutes, Dean finally gave into the pain and closed his eyes, falling limp in his brother's arms. Sam rushed to feel for a pulse, sucking in a breath of relief when he found one, light, thready, and fading fast, but it was there. Sam hugged his brother to him and looked up at Scott, only to find that the man was no longer there. He wasn't anywhere. "Thank you," Sam whispered, and could almost hear the quiet reply.

Kate was suddenly on her knees by his side. She had spotted the brothers from the road. Sam glanced at her, looking at her like a child looks at a mother, wanting them to fix something that had broken. "Oh no," she whispered and turned around, yelling for her husband. Peter came over not a moment later. He kneeled by them also and looked at his wife. "Peter, do something," she pleaded. Sam looked back down at Dean in his arms. Dean's face was pale, his eyes closed, his body limp. God, he looked dead. Kate gripped his shoulder and gave him an encouraging smile. "Peter's a doctor," she told him. Sam didn't know what to think as he watched Peter hastily work on his brother. He felt helpless. Kate put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him away from Dean. "They're going to get him to the hospital," Kate told him and Sam turned towards her, spotting the EMTs jogging over to them with a stretcher.

"Kate…" Sam whispered, feeling the tears coming back again as he looked down at Dean and realized he wasn't breathing. The EMTs quickly took him from Sam's arms and Kate guided him backwards, wrapping her arms around him as he watched them cart his brother away.

Four hours later, Sam sat in the emergency room, hunched over and staring at a spot on the floor. He'd somehow managed to collect his wits again and was able to think clearly again. The doctors didn't have any news on Dean, other than the fact that he was in surgery and he was alive the last time they checked. Kate sat next to him, her husband off helping some other people. She held one of his hands and Sam took strange comfort in her contact. The contact of a stranger, but also it was so much more. Kate held his hand, but he felt as though Jess were doing the same, that somehow she was channeling her energy into Kate and letting her presence be known, showing Sam that she was there, supporting him, taking care of him, watching over him. And it was just the comfort Sam needed.

Sam thought about what had happened. They hadn't been able to stop it. After all they'd gone through, it meant nothing in the end because people still died. One of the deputies had informed Sam that because they'd started evacuating, the fatalities were probably less than half the size of what they would have been, but Sam couldn't find any comfort in that. There shouldn't have been any fatalities at all. This shouldn't have happened. They knew it was going to happen, there had to have been something more they could have done. Maybe if they had called the Sheriff sooner, or if Sam hadn't spent hours typing up that goddamn recall map. God, what would their Dad think?

At the thought of John Winchester, Sam realized that a part of him was yearning for his Dad to walk through those doors and wrap his arms around his son in that bear hug he'd always gotten as a kid. He was torn between missing his father and hating him for not being here, for not stopping this from happening, for not coming when they needed him the most. Dean could die. Sam sighed as he realized he had a phone call to make. He stood up and smiled at Kate, who was watching him closely, like she'd been since the explosions. Her husband had probably warned her to watch for the signs of shellshock. Sam didn't have the heart to tell her that he'd been through countless training sessions with their Dad about how to prepare their minds for things like this, so shellshock wasn't an option. He was touched by her concern.

Stepping outside into the parking garage, he pulled the cell phone from his pocket and dialed the number he knew by heart. It rang once before the voicemail picked it up and John's familiar voice made Sam feel the lump form at the back of his throat. God, why was he abandoning them? Why was he hiding from them? They needed him. But more than that, Dean needed him. Dean had never been so lost in his whole life and Sam knew it. Without their father to guide him, Dean didn't have a clue what he was supposed to be doing except for fighting every baddie they came across. Dean needed their Dad to tell him what he should do, tell him what he wanted from them.

The voicemail beeped and Sam sucked in a breath. Here goes. "Dad?" Sam cursed himself when his voice cracked. He waited a second before he went on. "It's Sam." Like he wouldn't know, idiot. "Dean's in the hospital. They…" he had to collect himself before he could bring himself to say the next part. "They don't know if he's going to make it. I don't know if you still care about him or not, but I thought you should know. He's still your son." Sam almost hung up then, but he knew he couldn't end the voicemail on such a bitter note. "And, I just needed to hear your voice. Merry Christmas." He closed the phone and stuck it back into his pocket. He half hoped that John would call back in a minute, after he was done screening the call. He half hoped that John would drive out here to see them, to make sure they were both okay, to care about them the way fathers were supposed to care for their sons. He half hoped that John Winchester would never speak to them again.

Walking back inside, he found Kate on her feet, talking to Dr. Marksman, the same doctor who had treated Dean after the car accident. They both looked over at him somberly and Sam felt his heart drop. Oh God, Dean was dead. Look at the way they're looking at me, Dean's dead. Oh God, I let my brother die.

"Sam?" Dr. Marksman called and Sam snapped out of it.

"Is he okay?" Sam asked softly, too afraid of the answer to talk any louder.

Dr. Marksman sucked in a breath. Oh God. "Your brother has had some very serious trauma over the past few days. His body started shutting down on him during surgery. His heart stopped twice and we had to revive him." Sam felt his own heart stop. "But he made it through all right. And we believe, with a few weeks rest, he's going to be fine." The words were the sweetest thing Sam had ever heard. He felt himself relax and Kate grabbed his arm, thinking he may fall over.

"So he's not going to die?" Sam had to ask it bluntly to reassure himself.

"Well," the doctor shrugged. "I hope not because for the short time he was awake, he told me that if I let him die, he'd kick my ass."

Sam couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. Oh God, Dean was alright. Sam sighed in relief again and looked at the doctor. "Can I see him?"

"He's pretty sedated and will be for a while," Dr. Marksman explained. "We're trying to keep him as still as possible. He's done some damage to his lungs and nearly broke his sternum in half. We've had to put some screws and pins in his chest, for the fracture there. So he's not going to be very responsive for a while."

"That's okay," Sam said, nodding vigorously. "I just want to see him."

"Alright, but on one condition," the doctor held up a finger to Sam, who looked at him, waiting for any set of instructions this doctor could give him. He'd saved his brother twice, he'd do anything the man asked of him. "I don't want to see you in here again anytime soon. Frankly, I'm sick of your face and I need a break from you boys." Sam laughed and promised the man that, once Dean was out, they wouldn't be coming back anytime soon, he'd make sure of it.

As Sam entered Dean's room, he almost couldn't believe that the person laying in that bed was his brother. He was pale and looked small among the blankets covering him. There was a tube in his nose and a heart monitor beeped rhythmically next to him. A tube had been stitched into the side of his chest, probably helping the collapsed lung his brother had experienced. Dean's face was still bruised and his wrist still bandaged. Sam could see the bulge on his chest that he could only imagine were mounds upon mounds of bandages and accessories keeping Dean's chest still and the broken sternum from piercing his heart. He was out cold.

Sam sat down next to his brother and took his hand. He wanted Dean's eyes to open, but he got no response from him. That's okay, Sam assured him silently. You get some rest brother, I'll be here when you wake up, I promise. Sam sat by Dean's bed for the next fourteen hours. Dean slept through it all.

There was movement beneath him and for a moment, Sam wondered what was moving beneath his pillow. He opened his eyes and tiredly looked around. Strange, the motel room didn't have all that equipment there the last time. And suddenly he remembered where he was. He lifted his head, realizing he'd been resting it on Dean's arm. His head shot to his brother's face as he realized that Dean's hand was moving, grasping his own. He was actually surprised to see Dean's eyes open, watching him. "Hey, kid," Dean rasped. Sam smiled at the glorious sound of his brother's voice. It meant he was alive, and aware. Dean hadn't called him "kid" since Sam was twelve.

"Dean," Sam said, holding his hand tightly. Dean still looked tired, his eyes only half open and slowly blinking.

"Is everyone okay?" Dean's voice was weak and Sam wanted to tell him to be quiet, but he knew he'd only get protests at that and he didn't want Dean to waste his breath.

Sam licked his lips as he said, "The Sheriff's dead. And twelve people were killed. A lot more injured." Sam saw Dean's face falter slightly and so he was quick to add, "But it could have been a lot worse. The police said that if people hadn't started to evacuate, there'd be a lot more fatalities."

"Are you okay?" Dean asked, eyes opening a little wider, more alert, like he really wanted to pay attention to the answer.

"I'm find," Sam said quickly. "It's you whose in the hospital, yet again."

Dean actually smiled and Sam felt some of his worry start to fade away. Dean closed his eyes as he said, "Well I wanted to say hello to the nurses again." Sam gave a soft chuckle before he sobered again. Dean must have noticed the mood change and he opened his eyes. "How am I doing?" he asked, seemingly gauging Sam's reaction. Sam realized that the doctors must have not told Dean anything. He felt like smacking himself for not saying anything sooner.

"Well, you're going to live," Sam said dryly, watching Dean's face spread into a smile. "But we'll be spending Christmas and New Year's with those pretty nurse friends of yours."

"Ah," Dean sighed, but still smiled. "No complaints there." Sam chuckled and watched as Dean's eyes roamed over his face.

"Are you okay?" he asked again.

Sam frowned. "I just told you…"

"Not what I meant," Dean cut him off, looking at Sam sternly.

Sam didn't know what to say. No he wasn't okay. He'd almost lost his brother and twelve people had died. Children had come away with missing limbs. How was he supposed to be okay? And he didn't want Dean to coddle him. Especially not while he was laying in a hospital bed. But Dean would know if he lied to him. So he settled on, "I should have figured it out sooner." Sam shook his head, looking away from his brother. "We could have stopped it."

"Sam," Dean said, grabbing hold of Sam's hand once more. "You can't save everyone." Sam recognized the words. He himself had said them to Dean just months before all of this. He'd meant it when he'd told Dean that, but now, when the words were aimed at him, he didn't know how he was supposed to believe it.

"It doesn't make me feel any less guilty," Sam whispered. Once again, Dean squeezed his hand.

"Sam, that's my guilt to bear," Dean said hoarsely and Sam looked at him, confused. What? "You remember Bloody Mary?" Dean asked, closing his eyes.

Sam watched his face for a moment before saying, "Yeah."

"Why do you think my eyes bled?" Dean's voice was soft and he hadn't opened his eyes again. Sam realized his brother was confessing something, something big. When they'd went up against Bloody Mary, she'd been attacking people who felt guilt over someone's death. Sam had his dreams of Jessica dying to feel guilty about. That's why his eyes had bled. But he hadn't even thought about why Dean's eyes bled. He had assumed that, after breaking the mirror, Bloody Mary's powers had become stronger and she'd just made them bleed. He hadn't thought that Dean felt guilty over someone's death.

"I don't know," Sam whispered back.

Finally, Dean opened his eyes and looked directly at Sam. "There have been so many people I know I could have saved, but didn't." Dean was winded and had to wait a minute before he went on. "Guilt is part of the job. I'd have a hundred names on the back of that mirror if she'd gotten me. But it's my choice to take on that guilt, Sam. It's not yours. It's never yours. Leave the feeling guilty to me. I'll handle it."

Sam stared at his brother as Dean tried to catch his breath. His face creased with pain for a moment before calming again. He hadn't known his brother felt that way. "You shouldn't have to do it alone," Sam whispered.

Dean grinned then and Sam wondered what the hell was so funny. It seemed that Dean had in inside joke with himself as he shook his head and patted Sam's hand. "I've been doing it alone my whole life, Sammy." He wasn't exactly sure what that was supposed to mean, but a part of him accepted the answer, as saddening as it was. He didn't want to press his brother any further, seeing the way Dean was quickly tiring out from all of this.

"Get some rest, Dean," Sam said, putting a hand on his brother's forehead. Dean didn't protest and Sam knew he must be tired. "We'll talk about this later. All of this." He thought he heard his brother mutter a stubborn, "Yeah Right," but soon Dean fell quiet again. It was over. It was finally over. They were safe again, for now.

After a few minutes, he leaned back, thinking his brother had fallen asleep when he still hadn't said anything. He watched him for a while, realizing that in the past few days, he'd seen so many sides of Dean that had been hidden from him for so long. He thought he'd known his brother. He thought he could read Dean inside and out, know what he was thinking all the time. But as Dean lay in his hospital bed, pale and tired and broken, Sam realized that the brother he knew and loved was only half of who Dean Winchester was. On rare occasions, he'd catch a glimpse of the side Dean kept to himself, the side that he may not even know existed. It was Dean Winchester, the businessman or doctor of Hollywood movie star. It was the Dean Winchester his brother had abandoned to follow his father in this never ending hunt. And Sam realized just how much Dean had given up for this life. Sam had escaped, had tasted what a normal life was. Dean had never been given the privilege. His father hadn't let him, and Dean had never tried.

Sam knew that he hated his father for that. He knew that he could never forgive his father for molding Dean into the hunter he was today, instead of letting him grow and become what he wanted to be, instead of letting him choose. He hated his father for ruining Dean's future, because at the rate they were going, Dean's future didn't exist. How could it? What was the saying, if you keep knocking on Hell's door, eventually someone will answer. What were the odds that Dean would reach thirty? Forty? Fifty? Did sixty even seem possible? And Sam blamed his father for that. Because he had created Dean Winchester, the hunter.

But Sam didn't know if some of that hate didn't ebb over onto Dean. If somewhere, deep inside himself he didn't hate Dean for not seeing what he was doing to himself and for not making an attempt to save himself from what inevitably would be the death of him. He wondered if the hate he felt inside of him wasn't directed at his brother's inability to disobey an order from their father. He wondered if he hated the hunter his brother had become, if he hated the life his brother had been forced into. Did he actually hate the man laying before him?

"Sam?" Dean's voice brought Sam's eyes back to his brother's face.

"Yeah?" Sam answered, taking his hand again.

"Did you call Dad?" he asked quietly. Sam chewed on his lip, staring back at his brother, not knowing how to tell him that once again, their father had failed to show up for them when they needed him. That once again, John Winchester had chosen the hunt over his son. The blank stare was all the answer Dean needed as he turned his head to the side and closed his eyes, hurt written all over his face.

No, he didn't hate the man laying before him. He didn't hate the hunter that his brother had become. He couldn't hate him, he didn't know his brother to be anything else but Dean Winchester, the loyal hunter. No, all of Sam's hate, all of his disdain for the life they'd been forced to live, forced to endure, all of that hate was reserved for one person and person alone.

John Winchester never did call to see how his son was doing.

The End

**Author's Notes: **Hey all! I want to thank ALL of the wonderful people who reviewed this story. I hope this ending satisfied you. I'd like to know your thoughts on it. I had some trouble wrapping this story up, so if you feel like I did a crappy job ending it, let me know, I won't take offense. (But be gentle, lol.) Thanks again to everyone!


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